


Lady Stormblade

by Lystan



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Alternate Canon, Budding Love, Emotions, Eventual Smut, F/M, Intrigue, Plot With Porn, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Tension, You're Welcome, you needed this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:47:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 55,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23893294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lystan/pseuds/Lystan
Summary: When Ulfric is introduced to Lady Esmere of Dawnstar, he doesn't expect much. When it's revealed that she is also the Dragonborn and wants to join the Stormcloak cause, things become more interesting. As the war against the Empire draws to a close, new alliances are made and relationships become complicated. Ulfric must weather the changes and decide what is best for Skyrim, even if those decisions go against his own desires.
Relationships: Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Ulfric Stormcloak
Comments: 22
Kudos: 86





	1. The Dragonborn Comes

Ulfric Stormcloak was a patient man. At least, he liked to believe that about himself. Now that he no longer had the fuel of youth to spur him, it took a great deal for him to lose his temper. He no longer acted without serious thought. Despite the whispers about his recent visit to Solitude, Ulfric had spent months considering how to deal with the High King and his ties to the Empire. Torygg had been a weakling, woefully unskilled to rule as High King, and Ulfric felt he'd proven that point, though perhaps not the way he initially wanted.

He still regretted demanding a challenge when his intention had only been negotiation but Torygg had forced his hand, pushed him to the option he hadn't wanted to choose. The rumors did Ulfric no justice. Now he was a murderer in the Empire's eyes because General Tullius refused to understand their tradition. It had been his right as a Nord of Skyrim to do so and it had been an honorable match but he’d ended the High King's life and that was enough for Tullius.

The Jarl of Eastmarch shook himself out of his reverie and brought his focus back to the never-ending procession of supplicants. He sighed, hardly listening to the merchant before him complain about the current economic decline. There was a war going on and his people were concerned about the cost of fresh lettuce.

When the man had stopped speaking, Ulfric replied in his most diplomatic tone. “While I appreciate your concern, I feel I need to remind you that this is a system of supply and demand. If I were to begin controlling the prices of our independent merchants, the entire Hold would be at each other's throats. As Jarl, it is not in the best interest of my people to do so. Rest assured, your opinion has been heard.”

The Breton either wasn’t brave enough or wasn't stupid enough to glare at his Jarl, but Ulfric was sure it was hiding in the man’s scowl as he bowed and left the palace. Ulfric reminded himself, as the next person in line began, that he was a patient man. It would do him no good to become frustrated with his people when they were only bringing forward their concerns. It was a tedious responsibility but he would continue to hold that frustration at bay for the good of Windhelm.

Ulfric was, however, thoroughly done with the day. When the man’s request had been addressed, he nodded to Jorleif, his steward, and the smaller Nord began to usher people out. Ulfric took the moment to run his hand over his face, the familiar feeling of exhaustion making itself known. Perhaps he would be able to sleep tonight, if only for a few hours. Between the war and running a Hold, he had almost reached the limit of his endurance.

Hand over his eyes momentarily, Ulfric heard Jorleif approaching the throne again and the Jarl felt his remaining patience thin by half. “Jorleif…”

“I know, my Jarl, but these are nobles from Dawnstar asking to greet you.” The man was short for a Nord but held his head high when Ulfric looked up. Blinking a few times to clear his vision, Ulfric studied the three travelers waiting for his permission to draw near. By their clothes and jewelry, he would have guessed they were high-born but they didn’t seem familiar at all.

“I thought I knew all the Dawnstar nobles. Who is this?” Ulfric could hear the roughness of his own voice.

Jorleif turned to examine them as well. “Cousins, I believe, of Skald the Elder.”

Ulfric grunted, motioning with his fingers for them to step forward. The man, shorter even than Jorleif and as bulky a Nord as he had ever seen, stepped forward with a grin. Two women trailed behind him. 

Jorleif announced, “May I introduce Lord Gyben Swift-Axe, his wife the Lady Ingris and their daughter, Lady Esmere.”

Ulfric was surprised by their formalities, Gyben bowing and the women curtseying. It wasn't often he saw such ceremony in his throne room. The people of Windhelm were more comfortable showing their respect with a simple nod. If they were being especially considerate, they'd remove their hat.

"Dawnstar, you say?" Ulfric felt his throat rasp over the words, gesturing to Jorleif to refill his mead. "What brings you to Windhelm, my friends?"

Perhaps calling them friends was a bit of a stretch but Ulfric wanted them to know he was extending them courtesy to the best of his ability. Visitors would be treated as such until they proved they weren't and Ulfric would be sure to keep a wary eye on them until they showed their colors, one way or the other.

Gyben puffed up like a spring hen. "Jarl Ulfric, it may surprise you to hear this but it is the plight of the Stormcloaks that brings us. My cousin, Skald, the Jarl of Dawnstar has been an avid supporter of yours..."

Ulfric felt a wave of apathy wash over him as the Nord continued on, all pomp and titles, probably mentioning every noble connection he could think of. As the man's words drifted past him, Ulfric turned his eyes to the wife and daughter. The wife (was it Isgred? Ingred? Ingris, that was it) held her head up, listening to every word that was said. The daughter, whose name was lost on him for the moment, stood with her head down and hands clasped before her. Ulfric was unable to place her age but she was quite tall so he assumed toward the older end of the spectrum.

Gyben went on about their travels and Ulfric paid him only half a mind, more interested in the subtle differences in their dress. Ingris wore fine clothing, to be sure, but it was worn and faded. Gyben himself wore furs more suited to a soldier but, even so, was far from its first use. The daughter wore what seemed to be brand new finery covered with a fur-lined cloak to keep out the freezing wind. It concerned him that they would be dressing her up and it was this thought that made his gut settle uncomfortably.

Gyben stopped speaking and Ulfric knew he was awaiting a response. Luckily for them both, Ulfric hadn't been ignoring him entirely. "Your travels have taken you far and wide, my friend. It sounds like quite the tale to be told. I am left to wonder, though, if it was the war efforts that have brought you here, what exactly do you intend?"

"Jarl, though noble we may be, we are as hard-pressed as any family of Skyrim in these desperate times." Gyben bowed humbly. "We do not have much to offer by way of monetary support but we do have something more precious than gold." 

As Ulfric had surmised and dreaded, Gyben stepped to the side and gestured to his daughter behind him. "My daughter, Esmere, Jarl Ulfric."

The woman did not raise her head or step forward. Ulfric narrowed his eyes at Gyben but at least made an effort to sound civil. "To join our ranks?"

"Well!" Gyben laughed in shock. "She is not much of a fighter but…"

Ulfric assumed they were offering her in marriage and he felt a wild disgust at the idea. It wasn't the first time a high-born family had made such a proposition but never, in all of the attempts he'd rejected, had a daughter looked so unwilling to be a part of it.

She hadn't moved an inch, hadn't turned her head to look around, shuffled her feet, sneezed or sniffed. It was becoming unnerving. He steeled himself to turn away another family, another potential wife. He didn't try to sound anything besides annoyed. "But?"

"Recent...events," Gyben hesitated and Ulfric's eyebrow arched, "have given us a new understanding of...of our daughter's previously unknown talents."

Ulfric studied the daughter. There was finally movement -- she stood straight, her head turned to look at her father with a blank expression. Brunette hair swayed, exposing her cheek and…

No.

Ulfric froze, his gaze sharpening on a fading scar along the line of her jaw, almost from ear to chin. He knew that scar. 

He stood from his throne and was striding toward her before he realized it but he didn't stop. "Do I know you?"

She didn't meet his gaze, only showing her profile and Gyben began to stammer assurances. "That is not possible, Jarl. She has never left Dawnstar before this venture."

The wife, Isgrid, laughed and said something about the absurdity of such a thing but Ulfric knew better. He knew what he'd seen that day, remembered it more clearly than any other battle. 

He ignored them both, focusing on their daughter. He reached out and turned her chin to face him as gently as he could.

Noble and high-born women generally averted their gaze when addressing men of a higher status. Ulfric had only been in a handful of situations to know this for himself but it was something he'd come to expect when approaching a family of title. This one, Esmere he reminded himself, did not. As she was moved to face him, her eyes met his in clear challenge and Ulfric found himself impressed.

Not much of a fighter, indeed.

This was absolutely the woman from Helgen. He knew her face, now that he could see it, and the mark on her jaw. It had been bloody when they'd first met, caused by the headsman's ax missing just short of her neck. They had all been quite distracted at the time by the beast raining fire upon them—even the executioner mid-swing.

Escaping from the dragon had made it impossible to catch her name, even if he'd been inclined to do so, but he remembered the look of her when he'd sent her off with one of his men to get to safety. Their eyes had only met for a moment, but the fire with which she'd held his gaze would be hard to forget.

Her eyes flicked to the side for an instant, toward her father, and he realized that Gyben was not party to the knowledge of that particular day. She'd been at Helgen, had almost died several times over, and somehow her father had no idea. He nodded, removing his hand from her chin. 

"I see." Ulfric wasn't one for duplicity but perhaps this was not his story to share. He clasped his hands behind him and took a step back. "I was mistaken. It is only that you seem familiar to me."

Ulfric glanced between the three of them, finally addressing Esmere. “Would you care to explain these 'recent events'?”

As she opened her mouth to reply, Gyben answered instead. “On our way to Whiterun, two weeks past, the city was beset by a dragon. The city guards had it well in hand and were able to slay the beast but when it died…”

Esmere made to speak but was interrupted by her mother, this time. “She’s the Dragonborn, my Jarl.”

“The Dragonborn?” Ulfric was not expecting that. His eyebrows rose and he looked to Esmere for confirmation. “Is this true, Lady Esmere?”

She stared slightly over Ulfric’s shoulder as her father answered without hesitation. "We saw it with our own eyes, Jarl! As soon as it was slain, something happened that affected her. As if its soul was sucked inside her.”

Gyben seemed not to notice Ulfric’s annoyed glance and the Jarl addressed Esmere again. “And the call from High Hrothgar? Will you follow the summons?”

She didn’t turn to face him but her lips lifted in a small smile. It may have been for his effort to include her in the conversation but, whatever the reason, she remained silent and Gyben began to speak in her place again. “We haven’t had the opportunity to…”

“I did not ask you, Lord Gyben.” Ulfric pinned him with a disapproving look, silencing the man effectively. Gyben frowned in confusion, not appearing repentant in the least. For the third time, Ulfric addressed their daughter. “Are you able to speak for yourself?”

She met his eye then, the smirk more prominent and one brow lifted. Her mother piped in. “Of course she can!”

“Lady Ingris.” Ulfric didn’t look away from Esmere. “Lord Gyben. Give me a moment to speak with the Dragonborn. Alone.”

Without sparing them a glance, he motioned Jorleif over. “My steward will show you to our guest quarters. Please, make yourselves comfortable.”

With that, he gestured for Esmere to join him and they left Jorleif to deal with her slightly shocked parents. Ulfric led them toward the ramparts of the palace and neither spoke until after they were outside. As the door closed heavily behind them, Esmere sighed, lifting her face to the flakes of snow that had begun to fall.

“It seems that is a common occurrence.” Ulfric waited for her reaction, not surprised when her expression reflected his own feelings on the matter.

She rolled her eyes, her groan lost in the wind that picked up. For the first time that night, she spoke. “As common as it is annoying.”

Ulfric hummed in understanding, walking toward the railing, and she followed. It gave them a beautiful view of the city below, the flickering lights of torches and braziers dotted between the sturdy houses of Windhelm. He took a moment to appreciate his city, admiring what had stood strong for more than a thousand years.

He turned toward her, wondering what she thought of the scene. She looked over the rooftops with a wistful expression, carefully removing her earrings. He couldn't help his curiosity. "What are you going to do with those?"

She looked at them in her hand, shrugging. "Sell them, probably."

"Why?" Ulfric was surprisingly interested in the answer.

She closed her hand, holding the ornate pair to her chest. "There was a beggar in the courtyard. I thought it would help her. I don't want them, anyway."

Ulfric considered her carefully, trying to align the information he had of her and found it difficult. "Why are you here, Dragonborn?"

"Would you like the truth or the story my father created?" She asked him in return.

He narrowed his eyes. "I've already heard your father's story. Tell me yours. Specifically, why you were in Helgen."

"Those are two different stories." She eyed him. It was more calculating than mistrusting, which he understood. He appreciated her wariness.

In response, Ulfric nodded. "Helgen, then."

She continued to watch him, her intense observance of him making his skin flush. He was used to people staring but this was different. He didn't feel that she was seeing him as a Jarl but instead as an equal. It was a novel concept. There weren't many who did.

"I was returning from Bruma," she finally said. Ulfric waited for more but that seemed to be all she would say.

He had thought conversing with her would be easy. He knew she didn't trust him yet-- the feeling was mutual, but if extracting information would be a chore, he wouldn't enjoy it. He pressed on. "Through the Pale Pass?"

She simply nodded, not contributing further as he'd hoped. He reminded himself he was a patient man. "That ambush was closer to Darkwater Crossing than the Pale Pass and in a different direction than Dawnstar."

"I wasn't anywhere near the ambush." Her face held no clues and Ulfric scowled in frustration. She sighed, adding, "An Imperial troop picked me up near the border assuming I was a spy. When they met up with the contingent that ambushed you and your men, I was thrown in as well."

Ulfric frowned, trying to remember exactly when she had been put in the cart with them. "Why? Didn't they know who you are?"

"No."

Ulfric looked at her pointedly and she eventually offered an answer. "I didn't tell them anything."

"Is that why you weren't on their list?" Ulfric was mildly impressed.

She shrugged. "Possibly. I wasn't on their original list of executions either, though."

"True. So, after Helgen, you went to Whiterun?"

She nodded, offering the information without hesitation this time. "Asking Jarl Baalgruf to send reinforcements to Riverwood, in case the dragon came their way."

Ulfric nodded. That was good. Baalgruf wasn't a friend by any means, but he was a Jarl concerned with the good of his people. Knowing someone was protecting the people outside of Whiterun was a relief, even if it wasn't his immediate problem. "Good. Then what? It doesn't take two weeks to get here."

She considered him again and he could see in her eyes she was deciding what to tell him. "We are here. That is all that matters."

Ulfric sighed. He couldn't say she was being difficult or that she was wrong. It didn't matter what had happened between Whiterun and Windhelm, but it was frustrating that she couldn't just tell him what he wanted to know. It had been some time since he'd met someone that wasn't open with him.

"Fine." He decided to move forward, looking out over the city again. "What is it you want, Dragonborn?"

"Will you always refer to me as such?"

The question surprised him. He turned toward her. "Would you prefer Lady Esmere, instead?"

"No. No honorifics." She scowled. "I don't want or need Imperial titles."

Ulfric frowned. "Your title is Imperial given?"

"It is. One I've been trying to outlive." She glanced at him. "Is it true what they say about King Torygg?"

It was a simple question and she didn't hint at more. His back stiffened, her words putting him on edge. "What is it they say?"

"They say you killed him."

He'd heard the guards around the palace talking, rumors spreading like wildfire about what they themselves had not seen. No one besides Galmar and a few soldiers had been there to witness it but there were enough loose tongues to create stories.

He decided he would take a page from her book and gave her no details beyond the truth. "I did."

She eyed him for a moment longer before shrugging. "He was the Empire’s puppet."

Perhaps it was the sentiment or the casual way she'd said it but Ulfric felt his chest unclench. He hadn't been worried about what she thought of him, of course. He'd only been concerned that the Dragonborn may not cooperate with him if her opinions were different.

"What should I call you, then, if not by your titles?" Ulfric tried to gain control of the conversation again. "Should I make something up?"

The earrings clinked softly in her hand as she shifted them, her eyes gazing at the horizon in thought. "Esmere would be fine. To answer your question, I would like to join your ranks."

Ulfric was shocked enough that he lost his previous annoyance. "You would?"

"On the condition that no one knows I'm the Dragonborn, if it can be helped." Esmere turned to him, her face quite stern. "People will know me by my actions, not my status. I don't want anything given to me that I haven't earned. My father wants me at your side as an idol for morale or whatever it is he has in his head, not a fighter in the field. I won't have it. If you want the Dragonborn to back the Stormcloaks, I will be one of you first."

Ulfric covered his speechlessness with a cough, adjusting his coat tighter around himself. "I would need to let my close advisors know the truth but I believe we can follow your wishes otherwise."

She didn't smile but the light in her eyes reminded him of stars.


	2. Unblooded

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I used some of the in-game dialogue in reference to the Jagged Crown, so not all of it is mine._

Esmere and Galmar took to each other like rabid skeevers. From her first moment in the war room, Galmar was against it. 

"You want  _ that _ wisp of a thing to be a Stormcloak?" The grumpy old man exclaimed. "I've seen juniper trees more sturdy!"

"But none as shapely." Yrsarald, Ulfric's war advisor, smiled at her, leaning his hands on the table. "Have we been introduced?"

As they had discussed, no one knew she was the Dragonborn outside of this room. The fact that his advisor was already trying to bed her annoyed Ulfric but would remain the least of his worries.

"Esmere. Yrsarald Thrice-Pierced." Ulfric glared at the younger man. "Are you done?"

Yrsarald grinned. "I hope not."

Esmere glared only at Galmar, giving no indication she'd even heard the introduction. Galmar and Yrsarald continued to size her up for completely different reasons. Ulfric grumbled, waving his hand at Galmar to indicate he should proceed with whatever he had planned. 

Galmar was not pleased. 

"I want it known that I think this is a bad idea. A Nord she may be, the  _ Dragonborn _ she may be, but we can't forget she's a high-born noble. Look at her!" Galmar gestured to her. "She couldn't have picked up a dagger in her life, let alone a killing ax! If you expect me to train her, you're wrong. I don't train whelps anymore, Ulfric, I march soldiers into battle."

Esmere stayed silent, crossing her arms over her chest, scowling at the veteran. 

Ulfric sighed. "Noted, Galmar, but it is  _ not _ your decision. She has requested to join and it is by her wish that she is entering our ranks as an Unblooded. If you'd seen her at Helgen, you would not feel the same as you do now, old friend."

"I would." Yrsarald leered and Ulfric resisted the urge to cuff him like a misbehaving child.

Galmar narrowed his eyes, looking her over again like he may have missed something. Finally, he rasped. "What was the name of the soldier that vouched for you?"

"Ralof." To her credit, she didn’t sound upset.

Ulfric hoped that would quell his reservations. Galmar scratched his beard. "I know Ralof. Good man. Good soldier. Still a little green…"

"Galmar," Ulfric said with finality, and the older man threw his hands up in defeat.

"Alright, alright! But don't think you're just going to stand here and take the Oath without proving yourself first." Galmar ignored Ulfric's annoyed grunt. "I suppose you can do that by traveling to Serpentstone Island and killing me an ice wraith. We don't need any snow-backs waddling about. We need dedicated soldiers, devoted to our cause. Willing to die for it. You kill an ice wraith out there, I might have all the proof I need."

Esmere remained exactly where she was, her eyes on Galmar. When she didn't answer right away, the old man goaded her. "What? Don't think you can handle it? Should I find you an easier task, my Lady?"

Ulfric watched with bated breath as Esmere stepped in front of Galmar, hands on her hips, and stared him down. She was tall, for a woman, and built like a warrior. In the gown from the night before, she had been presented as delicate, something of beauty to be handled with care. Now, in leather armor, her hair held back in a braid that started at the top of her head, she could not be mistaken as such. She raised her chin defiantly, her eyes mere inches from Galmar's.

"I can take whatever you throw at me."

Galmar, not one to be intimidated, growled back. "We'll see about that."

There was a tense moment before Yrsarald broke in. "When you two are done gazing into each other's eyes, will it be my turn next?"

Esmere finally looked at the man, her expression unimpressed. Having gotten her attention, Yrsarald asked, "Would you like to guess where I'm 'thrice-pierced'?"

Her eyebrow twitched and she replied with no emotion. "Your skull."

Before anyone had the chance to laugh, she turned and walked out of the room. Galmar scratched his head beneath the bear hide, making it seem for a moment that the long-dead animal was gnawing on his scalp. "Well, this’ll be interesting."

"Are you this hard on all your recruits?" Ulfric frowned at Galmar.

Yrsarald wasn't very good at staying quiet. "Technically, he is. That's what he has every outsider do when they ask to join. Pretty thing like that, though, I'd have just let her in."

"The women of Skyrim are lucky there are potions that can cure all diseases, with what you allow, Yrsarald." Galmar quipped, not nearly as annoyed with him as Ulfric was.

Yrsarald only shrugged, looking happy with himself. 

Ulfric said, "We're done with this. We have other matters to discuss."

“By that, I hope you mean the Jagged Crown,” Galmar said as he sat down.

Ulfric groaned. “This again. Galmar, we don’t have time. There is no proof…”

“There is!” Galmar insisted, his fist pounding on the table. “Just because it isn’t written down for you in a damn book doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist!”

Ulfric summoned all the patience he had and leveled an unimpressed stare at his old friend. “I already have a crown.”

“Not like this one.” Galmar became even more serious. “Ulfric, I’ve researched this for years. Not just the lore but charting movements through tales and pieces of stories told across the Holds. I’ve put a lot of time and effort into hunting this down on my own. It wouldn’t be a waste of time because I  _ know  _ where it is.”

Yrsarald said, from his place leaning against the wall, “I’m impressed you feel so strongly about this, Stone-Fist. Never thought the war would inspire you to be a learned man.”

“I’m not sparing men for your whims, Galmar,” Ulfric interjected to stay on subject as Galmar glared at the war advisor. “We need to come up with a plan for our men in Falkreath.”

Galmar nearly stood from his seat, leaning forward to speak with intensity. “This is no whim, Ulfric! It’s more than just a legend! It’s a surefire way to legitimize your throne!”

“A crown doesn’t make a king,” Ulfric deadpanned.

Galmar glared back. “Any true Nord, Jarl or not, will understand its meaning. Except for Torygg’s woman, maybe.”

Ulfric rubbed his temples, not wanting to have this argument again. He had fifteen letters waiting to be responded to, the finances of Eastmarch to discuss with Jorlief, visiting nobles to cater to, citizens to please...in short, this discussion wasn’t on his list of things to deal with today. 

His rein on his patience slipped just a bit. “Damn the Jarls.”

Yrsarald’s eyebrows shot up but Galmar only grunted. “Of course. Damn the ones that make all the decisions. You do remember who comprises the Moot, don’t you?”

“And damn the Moot!” Ulfric swallowed, realizing his reaction was stronger than he thought. “I’m not trying to win the country, Galmar! I’m trying to save it!”

His housecarl didn’t flinch. “And you will, Ulfric! We have the Dragonborn on our side! Now we have the advantage over the Empire and it fell right into our laps!”

“Yes. The Dragonborn.” Ulfric growled. “Which is why we don’t need a damn crown.”

Galmar’s fist hit the table again. “Of course you don’t  _ need _ it but we’d be damn fools to think Tullius and Rikke aren’t thinking the same thing! We have to get to it before they do, Ulfric, not just to keep it out of Elisif’s hands but because it will be the symbol of the righteousness of  _ our _ cause! Think about it—the Jagged Crown heralds back to a time before Jarls, before Moots. A time when a king was a king because his enemies fell before him and his people rose because they loved him. Skyrim needs that king, Ulfric, and it should be you."

Ulfric sat back, considering the words his friend had spoken. So much of what Galmar said was true. General Tullius was no Nord and held no love for its lore, but his Legate, Rikke, had served with Ulfric and Galmar before the White-Gold Concordat had been signed-- when Skyrim was still its own country, not some milk-wrung cow being sapped by the Empire.

“You bring up a good point. Rikke wouldn’t back down from it for the same reason you won’t.” Ulfric could see a glint in Galmar’s eye and it almost made him smile. “I’ll think about it. For now, let’s address Falkreath. If I'm still in a good mood after that, I’ll hear your plan for an attack on Whiterun.”

Galmar frowned to hide his grin. “Don’t think you’ll distract me so easily, Ulfric.”

“Speaking of distracting,” Yrsarald added before more could be said on the matter, “I’d like to know more about Esmere.”

The look Ulfric gave Yrsarald was enough to shut him up. In a voice demanding obedience, Ulfric said, “We’ll speak no more of the Dragonborn.”

\---

"We need to talk about the Dragonborn," Galmar said the next morning, with no introduction.

Ulfric looked up from his breakfast, finishing his mouthful before answering. "Has she returned? It's only been a day."

Galmar huffed. "Of course she is. Serpentstone isn't that far. She's not  _ dead _ is the important part! Now she needs to take the Oath, so stuff that down your gullet and present yourself, Jarl."

"Why is this necessary?" Ulfric just wanted to finish one meal in peace.

Galmar sighed in annoyance. "Because she's swearing fealty to you, Ulfric. If she wants to join, she has to take the Oath."

"Fine." Ulfric took another bite of honeyed bread. "I'll be there when I've finished."

Galmar snorted and turned to leave. "Don't take too long. Yrsarald's been hounding her since she got in the door."

Ulfric scowled and pushed away from the table, following his housecarl.

In the throne room, the sun had even made an appearance, pouring through the windows as if blessing their actions. Esmere and Galmar stood at the foot of his throne, Ulfric looking down on them.

Galmar had insisted that, in order for it to be official, Ulfric needed to be on his throne. Otherwise, they were just talking. Ulfric had begrudgingly obliged, not wanting to argue with the man on yet another subject, though now he was glad that he had. Esmere looked up at him, her eyes filled with victory and pride. It was a beautiful sight.

_ I do swear my blood and honor to the service of Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm and true High King of Skyrim. _

Ulfric had heard the Oath too many times to count, intoned by one or several voices. Esmere, as others before her, repeated the words Galmar gave, swearing herself to him and their cause.

_ As Talos is my witness, may this oath bind me to death and beyond... _

She did not waver, did not hesitate, and spoke each word directly to him, her heartfelt earnest imbuing each syllable. For many reasons, this meant more than any other initiate echoing lines that may not even have registered.

_...even to my lord as to my fellow brothers and sisters in arms. _

Ulfric didn't doubt any of his Stormcloaks, or their sincerity. Each soldier, while he may not know them personally, meant a great deal to him. That another being would lay down their life for him, for his cause, could never compare to anything else. He valued them with every fiber of his being.

_ All hail the Stormcloaks, the true sons and daughters of Skyrim! _

As she finished, her head held high, he realized it was more than her pledging herself as the Dragonborn. The truth that had warmed his chest from the start was simply that she was pledging herself to him, without reservation. She had taken the Oath, staring into his eyes like there was no other man on Nirn. It was impossible to look away from something like that.

Now, it came to his part. He sat a little straighter, appearing as regal and commanding as he could manage. The rumble of his voice filled the hall. "I ask you, Esmere of Dawnstar, daughter of Skyrim, will you throw off the shackles of Imperial oppression?"

"I will, my Jarl." She dipped her head, her eyes not leaving his. 

"Will you break the yoke of a false emperor?"

Again, she nodded. "I will, my Jarl."

"Will you fight alongside your kinsman, your shield-siblings, to drive back the tyranny of the Empire?" Ulfric asked.

She smiled. "From now until the end of my days."

"Then I name you Stormcloak. Be true to your blood, to your homeland. Help us rise from beneath the Empire to face the new dawn."

Placing a hand over her chest, she bowed slightly in respect. "As you say, my Jarl, it will be done."

"Good." Ulfric nodded, turning to look at his friend. "Are you satisfied, Galmar?"

"It was a nice touch, the end there." The older man grinned. "Added that for her, did you?"

Ulfric glared at him for a moment, not impressed that his embellishment to the original wording was being pointed out. It only served as a way for Galmar to try and embarrass him in front of the Dragonborn. If he didn't like the man so much, he might have found a way to punish his insubordination. The thought gave him an idea.

"About our...discussion yesterday." Ulfric saw recognition in Galmar's expression so he continued. "Are you sure you've found it?"

The older man practically bounced on his feet. "Yes, my Jarl."

"Good. Because you're taking the Unblooded with you." Galmar's face fell and Ulfric felt a sense of satisfaction at getting even a small revenge. 

To Esmere, Ulfric asked, "Fancy a crawl through a moldering dungeon?"

She simply bowed again. "As you say, my Jarl."

Galmar groaned but his excitement for the quest seemed to overcome his distaste for his company. He glared at Esmere. "Alright. Let's get you suited up."

When she appeared confused, Galmar added, "You're a Stormcloak now. I suppose you ought to look the part."

They left, heading toward the barracks, and Ulfric wondered what would come of their quest. More so, he wondered if Galmar would ever feel she had completely proven herself. He sighed. Only time would tell.


	3. Ice-Veins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _This is a hefty chapter and they only get longer from here. Get a drink and some snacks!_

Whiterun felt deserted, even though it was currently filled with Stormcloak and Imperial troops. Some were dead, others were wounded, but Ulfric knew the Imperials had taken the worst of it. Baalgruf had been willing to yield even if the Empire had not, so the Legion had suffered the most, but not the only, losses.

As Ulfric descended the steps from Dragonsreach, able to see the damage to the city, he was conflicted by pride and guilt. They had won the battle for Whiterun with fewer casualties than the other factions, appointing Vignar Gray-Mane as Jarl in place of Balgruuf to support their presence in the city. Ulfric was one step closer to uniting Skyrim. He should have been happy.

The sight of the burning thatch roofs made him wonder -- at what cost?

The townsfolk would need to rebuild, the families of those killed would need to mourn. The city would need time to heal, and for that alone, he felt a great sadness. It was never his intention to hurt the innocent, even if that was the way of war. His heart was heavy with it, his mind crawling with the anger he harbored only for himself.

A hand on his bicep wrenched him from his dark mood and he turned to the woman walking beside him. Esmere was wearing full Stormcloak armor and Ulfric had thought several times that day how much he liked seeing her in his colors. Her helmet was tucked under her arm, displaying the streaks of ash and blood across her chin and nose. She was beautiful.

Ulfric pulled himself away from that line of thought, instead following her gaze to discover what had her grinning. At the base of the stairs, before the shrine of Talos, a priest was dancing and singing. Hands lifted, he sang praises to the man-God in a joyous and off-key tune. The wreckage of his home stood burning nearby but the man was overjoyed to have his freedom to worship given back to him. The sight was heartening, and Ulfric smiled.

Ulfric turned back to Esmere, intending to say something, but the words died on his lips. It was so rare to see her smile. As the priest sang on, they continued to beam at each other, nothing needing to be said.

"Out of the way, Ice-Veins." Galmar cut between the two of them, shoving Esmere to the side. Ulfric hadn't realized her hand had still been on his arm until it was gone.

Good mood ruined, Esmere planted a furred boot on Galmar's lower back making him stumble down several steps. The older man spun, hand on the hilt of his greatsword as if to draw it and Ulfric sensed the Thu'um building in Esmere. She'd used it enough in battle for him to feel it before it happened. He knew what kind of damage she could cause, even untrained in the way of the Voice.

"Peace." He placed a hand on her shoulder, speaking to both of them. "There has been enough fighting for one day."

Galmar glared at her, letting go of his weapon and grumbling as he continued down the stairs. Ulfric was sure he heard the words "immature" and "child", eliciting a chuckle from the exhausted Jarl. 

Ulfric let his hand slip down her arm as he moved past her, squeezing gently to let her know he understood. There was a moment where their eyes met and he told himself his blood was still heated from the battle, not from the way she looked at him.

_ You were magnificent _ . He wanted to say it out loud as they continued toward the gate, the words on the tip of his tongue. He bit down hard to keep them from spilling out. No one need know his mind on the matter, true or not. She had proved herself a force to be reckoned with, an overwhelming display of controlled destruction. Her Shout rivaled his own, and her swordsmanship was unmatched in his patchwork army. None but Ulfric and Galmar had been able to keep up with her as she cut a path through barricades and soldiers to lead them to Dragonsreach.

They made it down the stairs to the market before he remembered what Baalgruf had said during his hostile departure. He addressed Esmere without stopping. "You didn't tell me you were Thane."

She glanced at him, her cheeks reddening beneath the grime. "I doubt I am anymore."

"I'm sure Vignar will honor it," Galmar spoke from ahead of them, not looking back. "You should keep the title. Help our stance here."

Esmere tsked and muttered under her breath. "Titles."

"You've earned these, Esmere Ice-Veins." Ulfric reminded her, softly. "They were not given lightly."

She glanced at him again and he thought her blush may not have been from embarrassment this time. He faced forward, the notion teasing at the corners of his mouth.

Thoughts like these had entered his mind more frequently in the past few weeks. The more often he saw Esmere, the more he warmed to her. She hardly spoke, barely uttering more than "as you say, my Jarl," when in company. She said even less when Galmar was present.

However, he'd been able to speak with her alone a handful of times, and when it was just the two of them, she was more companionable. It was moments like those when he was able to see her as more than a soldier, more than a weapon, more than her titles. He had only recently come to the conclusion that he enjoyed her company even with the silence.

Ulfric and Galmar were approached by the Commander of Whiterun Hold, Hjornskar Head-Smasher, and were quickly enveloped in a conversation about running the city in his absence. It was a mind-numbing, tedious discussion over minor details Ulfric didn’t want to concern himself with but he knew they were his responsibility as the city’s new commander, and he was not one to shirk his duties. Vignar might be the Jarl of Whiterun, but Ulfric was the victor, which meant he would need to choose what would happen to the city until it was reestablished.

It didn’t take long for Ulfric’s exhaustion to catch up with him now that he was standing still. The siege had begun the previous evening, just as the sun was setting and it was only now reaching mid-day. He swayed on his feet, blinking slowly. Having ridden directly from Windhelm to join the fray, he tried to remember when he’d last rested. Thinking was difficult. As important as it had been for him to be there when Whiterun fell, he wished he’d been able to find a few hours of sleep before it had begun.

He thought Esmere and Galmar were faring better, both of them seeming to thrive on all the activity. Their little scene on the stairs had been one of many, the two circling each other like sabercats. They had fought like a veteran team, tearing through Imperial soldiers like a well-honed blade, but once the fighting was done, they continued to pick at one another. Ulfric wanted to assume it was because they were both warriors at heart, craving the thrill of battle more than the quiet call of peace, rather than that they truly disliked each other that much.

Galmar was still going over the finer points of patrol routes with Hjornskar and Ulfric was unable to focus. He crossed his arms over his chest, hoping the stance would stave off his fatigue for a few minutes more. He rolled his shoulders, stretching his neck to alleviate its soreness, and caught sight of Esmere nearby.

She was surrounded by a group of soldiers congratulating her and patting her on the back. The news of her being the fabled Drabonborn had spread like fire through the ranks and she hadn’t been able to deny it after her first Shout. After a moment of observation, Ulfric realized with a smile that a majority of the soldiers around her were female. It seemed they had accepted her as their shield-sister.

He was struck with another moment of awe at the sight of her. Sunlight made everything around her glow, her reception of the compliments radiating happiness through her smile. She was beautiful. 

Ulfric was pulled from his reverie by a sharp elbow to the ribs. When he turned in surprise, Galmar stood next to him, scowling, and Hjornskar was nowhere to be seen.

"No."

Ulfric frowned, confused. "To what, Galmar?"

"Not her." Galmar didn't take his eyes off of Ulfric. "If your blood is running hot, there are plenty of wenches for the taking. But—this is important, Ulfric, don't roll your eyes—do  _ not _ bed the Dragonborn."

Ulfric scoffed. "Whatever gave you the impression I wanted to?"

"That stupid grin on your face," Galmar replied, blandly. The older man cocked an eyebrow. "You think I don't know what I just saw?"

Ulfric turned toward the gates, walking away from his friend. "She is being welcomed into the ranks. I am glad. That is all."

Galmar grunted, following slightly behind, not willing to say anything further in front of others which had been Ulfric's intention. He cared for his friend greatly and took the man's advice with serious consideration but there were times when Ulfric hated Galmar being a part of every aspect of his life. Galmar was a good friend and there was no better general he could ask for but one thing he wasn't was Ulfric's mother. 

Sentries on either side of the gate bowed their heads as they passed. One of them murmured, "Dragonborn."

Ulfric turned to find her trotting up beside him, her gaze intent on the horizon. "What is next, my Jarl?"

"There is much to do." Ulfric turned his eyes away lest Galmar say more. He ignored the warm feeling of her referring to him as  _ her _ Jarl. She'd always called him that and it hadn't mattered before. "An army to run and a broken city to tend to."

They crossed the drawbridge, turning the corner to find more soldiers parting for them with bowed heads. Ulfric tried to acknowledge them all, only able to see a handful of faces to nod to before they reached the outer wall.

Their horses were picketed outside the gate for them, though the camp was only down the road a short way. Ulfric's pale warhorse, Bjarke, pawed at the ground as they neared. He patted the stallion fondly and freed the reins, relieved that the riding from the previous day hadn't put his favorite steed out of commission. 

Galmar mounted to one side of him and Ulfric turned to see Esmere nuzzling just as strongly as her horse, uttering quiet words of praise for the black mare. He chuckled at the display before Galmar's glare quieted him. Yes, there were times that Ulfric hated having Galmar around.

They rode in near silence, acknowledging soldiers as they passed with a nod. A small group shouted "Dragonborn for Skyrim!" from a distance and Esmere waved her arm in a broad arc, her smile wide. Ulfric kept his eyes forward and trotted a few paces ahead of them, all the better to ignore the sidelong glances Galmar continued to give him. Her high spirits were infectious, nothing more, he told himself. He wasn't sure exactly who he was trying to convince.

The Jarl's tent had not been completely erected yet, arriving so close to the beginning of the siege and all that had come after, so they made their way to the pavilion tent Galmar had utilized for command. Ulfric only felt mild guilt at usurping it from him, still annoyed at the other man's outright chiding. He was determined to prove the old man wrong about Esmere, despite the warning in the back of Ulfric's mind that he may be right.

Removing his steel chest plate and gauntlets as he went, Ulfric took his place behind the table. Galmar stood just to his left as he would have in the war room in Windhelm. Esmere trailed in behind them, flopping into the single chair and propping her feet up on the other corner of the table. 

In response to Galmar’s scowl, she winked, grinning as she shifted for more comfort. Ulfric shook his head, the flick of his fingers a gesture for Galmar to drop the matter. He was too tired to mediate another of their petty disputes.

"How many men do we have stationed here?" Ulfric asked Galmar, leaning heavily on the table. Before him was a map covered in pins and markers. With some satisfaction, he removed Whiterun's flag and replaced it with an Eastmarch emblem.

Galmar crossed his arms over his chest. "Last count was nearly three hundred. Not knowing our casualties or wounded, I'd say one hundred seventy-five are battle-ready."

"I want a recount done before the morning." Ulfric's heart dropped into his stomach at the thought of that many people, someone's sons and daughters, laying dead. "We need to know where we stand. Notify the families of the dead and make arrangements for the bodies to be brought to the field west of camp. We will hold a service tomorrow evening and a pyre for them. May Talos guide them to Sovngarde."

Galmar nodded. "It will be done. Are you satisfied with leaving Vignar and Hjornskar in charge?"

"Well enough." Ulfric frowned. "They are both competent, but I'm more concerned with the state of the city. With so many homes ruined, we will need to arrange for those families a safe place to stay. Dragonsreach would be my first choice but I don't think there is room for them all."

Galmar scratched his chin. "Vignar may be able to convince the Companions to open the doors of Jorrvaskr, if it's needed."

"That could work." Ulfric considered. "I don't know the inside. How many could it hold?"

Ulfric had put the question to Galmar but he was not the one to answer it. "Between twenty and thirty."

Ulfric and Galmar both turned to look at her, Esmere merely appearing uninterested. She continued. "Vignar has some pull but I would speak to Vilkas or Kodlak directly, if you're able."

"You know them?" Galmar sounded impressed which, in turn, impressed Ulfric.

Esmere shrugged. "Not well. Helped them kill a giant once."

Ulfric tensed his jaw to make sure his mouth wasn't hanging open. Galmar snorted in disgust and voiced his disbelief. "Helped. Sure."

"I would appreciate your intervention, then, Ice-Veins," Ulfric stated before Esmere could do more than glare. "Speak to the Companions, see what they would be willing to do to help restore the city."

Esmere nodded. "As you say, my Jarl."

"Galmar, I want you to stay and supervise this. I'll give you a week to get all the right shoes on the right feet. Return to Windhelm when it's done." Ulfric needed his expertise planning their next move since the capture of their troops south of Riverwood.

The older man simply nodded. "Of course."

"How many men will you need?" Ulfric could feel exhaustion burning through the rest of his energy like fire through kindling. If it weren't for the table, he might have not been standing.

Galmar picked up two of the markers and set them carefully next to the blue emblem covering Whiterun. "I could get by with eighty."

"Make it a hundred." Ulfric blinked, pressing his eyelids with his finger and thumb. "Send the rest to our Falkreath camp."

"No."

Again, Ulfric and Galmar turned to stare at her. Esmere looked asleep at first glance, head tilted slightly as it rested on the back of the chair. Ulfric doubted that he'd actually heard her speak until she continued, her eyes still closed. "You're taking men with you back to Windhelm, Jarl."

Galmar grunted, unhappy to agree with her. "That's true. I'd like to send twenty-five."

"Ten." Ulfric countered. They needed men in Falkreath and it would already be more than a week before Galmar was done here. He wasn't about to take more men than strictly necessary.

Galmar opened his mouth and then hesitated, his eyes glinting. "Alright."

Ulfric was immediately suspicious. The old man never gave up so easily. When Galmar continued with a smug air, Ulfric knew why. "Ten plus Ice-Veins."

"No." Ulfric shook his head. "We would be too large a target."

Galmar rolled his eyes. "Not even the Legion would be stupid enough to attack the only two people in Skyrim who can Shout!"

"The Thalmor would." Esmere had her eyes open now and they were pinned on Ulfric. He agreed with her as much as he didn't want to.

Galmar grunted, not willing to concede the point. "Leave at night. You'll make Windhelm by mid-day."

"Thalmor mages don't need daylight to hunt their prey, Galmar." Ulfric felt the tension in his chest that he closely associated with thoughts of the Thalmor blossom. "What happens if one, or both of us, are captured? There was no activity on our way here but I'm sure they'll be watching the road back."

Galmar pressed his knuckles into the surface of the table, holding Ulfric's gaze. "You think there's someone better to ride beside you than the damned Dragonborn?"

Ulfric scowled. He wanted her to ride with him, there was no second-guessing that, but he wasn't about to let his personal wishes come before her safety. If the Thalmor ambushed them and she was captured, he couldn't live with himself knowing she would suffer a fate worse than death. He remembered it well enough, himself.

"Fifteen." Ulfric growled, his jaw clenched. He was giving up ground, hoping the play would move him forward. "And she stays."

"Eight."

The sound of her boots hitting the dirt made him glance up. She remained sitting, some of her hair falling out of the high braid that had held it beneath her helmet. From the light of the nearby brazier, he could see the flash of flame in her eyes as she stared at him in challenge. "And I go."

Ulfric was reminded of the look on her face the night they'd met, her fury directed at a far corner of the room while her father spoke for her. This time it was pointed directly at him. He regretted continuing the pattern and felt begrudgingly inclined to atone for it.

After a pause, he nodded to her and she sat back in the chair with a less hostile expression. Galmar grinned. "Tomorrow night, then? After the service?"

"Agreed." Ulfric asked a few more questions of Galmar on the state of the men, supplies they might need for the upcoming week and where and when they might get them. When all the decisions had been made, he stood, his back stretching with a satisfying pop.

When he glanced over, Galmar was smirking. Ulfric turned to find Esmere asleep in the chair. Ulfric stared at her for a moment, watching her chest rise and fall beneath her crossed arms, and it dawned on him just how fallible she was. 

She was not indestructible or invincible, instead just as mortal as any other soldier in his army. He wished he could believe she was, that he could send her to fell armies at his behest with no concern for her safety, but he could not look at her in such a vulnerable state and fool himself into thinking so. He needed to remember she was not a tool but a human.

He moved to wake her but stopped when Galmar held up his hand. Ulfric watched with curiosity as Galmar reached across the table to grab the hilt of Ulfric's sword. Steadily, he pulled it from the sheath and the noise had Esmere on her feet in less than a breath. Unfortunately, Galmar already had the swordpoint resting on the hollow of her throat.

"Couldn't get the drop on you if you were dead, eh?" Galmar chuckled. "I think you owe me a drink,  _ my Lady _ ."

Ulfric held back a smile, not quite sorry that she'd felt comfortable enough in their presence to relax. It was a hard lesson to learn but it was better she learned it now than somewhere else. Somewhere she would end up dead.

Esmere glared but there was little fire in it. Despite having sprung from the chair, she must not have been fully awake yet and, so, had no rebuttal to his comment. With a deep sigh, she surrendered through gritted teeth. "Fine."

Galmar lowered the sword smugly and Ulfric thought her cheeks burned with shame. Ulfric wished he could laugh but the mirth had been drained from him. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you two were finally getting along."

Which was when he was rudely interrupted by a yawn.

"You need rest, my Jarl." Esmere looked at him with concern which was an expression Ulfric had never seen on her before. It was a strange sight to behold.

Before he could deny it, Galmar was scolding her. "Says the woman caught sleeping." He pointed toward the tent opening with the borrowed sword. "Now, stop your hen-pecking and fetch me my mead!"

With a haughty sneer, she turned away and Galmar swatted her backside with the flat of the blade. "There's a good wench."

If looks alone could kill a man, Galmar would have burst into flame. Instead of revenge, she spat on the ground and stalked out of the tent.

Galmar shouted after her. "Save your spit for later!"

"What were you saying about bedding the Dragonborn?" Ulfric knew he was scowling but didn't have the energy to care. Galmar handed him back his blade, hilt first, and Ulfric sheathed it with more force than necessary.

Galmar, in all his audacity, grinned even wider. "Never said anything about me."

Ulfric made to leave but Galmar stopped him with a hand on his chest. "She's right, though, Ulfric. We can't have you running yourself into the ground. Bad for morale."

"I don't…" Ulfric began, wishing he didn't want to lie down so badly. 

Galmar gave him a stern look. "When was the last time you slept?"

When Ulfric didn't answer, Galmar continued, tilting his chin toward the pile of furs. "Sleep. We can handle things for a few hours without you."

Ulfric sighed, closing his eyes in defeat. He nodded, waving his friend off, and removed his greaves. As he stretched himself out, Galmar left and the last thing Ulfric remembered before sleep took him was his oldest friend posting guards outside the door.

\---

Perhaps it had been talk of the Thalmor that brought the dream to him, or maybe Vermina, Daedric prince of nightmares, had taken a particular liking to him. Ulfric's rest was plagued with memories of lightning spells and his own screams.

Elenwen was clear in his mind. Her voice filled with malice, her lip curled in a permanent sneer, her hands always glowing with the next form of torture. Sometimes, she hadn't even asked him anything, only hurting him for the sheer joy of it. Over and over. 

He couldn't escape.

Ulfric woke, nauseated and confused, his wrists still burning with the feeling of red-hot shackles. He absently rubbed the scarred skin there, a subconscious habit he'd never been able to completely break himself of. He was used to the nightmares but it had been a few months since he'd had one so vivid. 

He stood, putting on his greatcoat like an armor against his dreams, and stepped outside. The breeze was cool after the heat of the tent and he lifted his face to the sky. By his estimation, he'd slept at least three hours, which would be enough to get him to Windhelm most likely. It was enough every other night.

The sun was nearing the horizon but hadn’t settled behind it yet, shading the clouds in tones of orange and red. The camp was nearly calm, most of the soldiers out on their duties or sleeping after the battle as Ulfric had. He wandered through the camp without aim, speaking with the soldiers he passed. Galmar was nowhere in sight and neither was Esmere.

He didn't seek her out, exactly. He had reason to speak with her, especially if she'd already visited Jorrvaskr. In the end, he only needed to ask one guard to get her location so he followed the footpath toward the nearby farms and found her easily enough. It would have been hard to miss the lone figure amidst the fields.

She faced the treeline but, as he neared, looked over her shoulder. He hailed her and she raised her hand in greeting, moving to meet him. 

When they were close enough, he asked, "Have you traveled to Jorrvaskr?"

"As you said." She said, with a grin.

He smiled back. "And? Will the Companions aid us?"

"Yes." She continued to stare at him, her eyes glittering with pride.

After a moment, Ulfric chuckled and shook his head. Her furrowed brow made him explain. "By Talos, Esmere, I'd wager you'd have enough stories for a year if only someone could get you to tell them."

She smiled softly, looking down at her hands and said nothing. Ulfric shook his head again, his point made with her silence. He glanced around him, asking aloud, "What are you doing out here?"

She only sighed in response, turning her eyes toward the mountain. He nodded in understanding. "The Throat of the World."

As the highest point in all of Skyrim, it could be seen from every Hold in the country. The mountain reached to the sky, its peak hidden by clouds, atop which lay the sanctuary of the Greybeards. It was far more imposing on the fields of Whiterun than it was from the walls of Windhelm. For Ulfric, it brought back memories of his childhood—the peace of windy, stone halls and whispered prayers. High Hrothgar would always be a paradise now lost to him.

"Have you been considering the Greybeard's call?" He glanced at her profile. She chewed the inside of her cheek, thinking about it. He waited, having learned that she never said anything lightly.

She huffed out a breath, staring at the tall grass in front of them. "After Helgen, I came to Whiterun to speak with Balgruuf about sending troops to Riverwood. I told you that."

"You did." Ulfric was a little surprised at her change of subject but nodded for her to continue. 

"You asked me once what took me so long to get to Windhelm." For a moment he saw the hazel of her eyes before they flickered away again. "Baalgruf asked me to help the court mage with something. I think I should tell you about it."

Ulfric nodded again, unsure what to say. "If you feel I should know, please do."

"There was a woman working with Faringar. I wasn't told her name." Esmere began. "The two of them sent me after an artifact in the ruins near Riverwood to help them further their studies. Its importance wasn't explained to me but I gathered more information than they realized." 

She paused, blowing out a slow breath and met his gaze. "It was a map of dragon burial mounds."

"Ysmir's blood." Ulfric swore lowly. "What could they want with that?"

Esmere shook her head. She added, "It worries me."

"Aye, it should." He agreed. He contemplated the implications of her story, what that would mean for Skyrim. "No one should be meddling with something so dangerous. If they started bringing back dragons, who knows what could happen!"

Esmere chewed the inside of her cheek again and nodded to the mountain. Her meaning dawned on him. "You mean to speak to the Greybeards about it?"

She nodded but he could see the lines of tension around her eyes. It hadn't been an exaggeration for her to say she was worried. 

They stood in silence for a few minutes, wrapped in their own thoughts. He searched for something to say that might ease her mind. Seeing the Throat of the World before him, all he could think of were memories.

"I was eleven summers when my father took me up the steps." Ulfric said. "I had a great love for my father, though there were times when I wondered if he felt that love for me. It was hard to leave my family, my friends, but it is a great honor to be accepted by the Greybeards. I wanted to make my father proud. So, I climbed to the top of the mountain and devoted ten years of my life to becoming what he wanted me to be."

He could feel her eyes on him but he kept his gaze trained on the mountain. "It is a peaceful place, more quiet than you can imagine. As if all of Nirn is holding its breath."

“You miss it.” Esmere was watching him, seeming to see through him. Ulfric was only able to look at her for a moment before he had to look away. Jarls shouldn't blush.

"At times." Ulfric cleared his throat. "It's very...disconnected. But, when the war came, I couldn't stay. I couldn't abandon my people and let others defend my country for me."

Esmere studied him, nodding sadly. An edge to her voice, she stated, "Warriors can never stay."

Ulfric turned to her, confused by her choice of words, but she was no longer looking at him. Her expression had become hard, her jaw clenched. He came to the conclusion that it had triggered some memory she wasn't inclined to share. He was tempted to ask about it but reconsidered.

"I suppose that's true in more than one sense." Ulfric agreed carefully, not wanting to antagonize. "A part of me does wish I could retire and leave all this war and unrest behind."

"You won't." Her expression didn't change and she didn't turn to address him. 

Ulfric frowned. "What would make you say that?"

She almost smiled, her soft laugh stolen by the wind. "You haven't gone back."

Ulfric opened his mouth to defend himself, explain how things had fallen into place and he had been unable to escape the confines of that fate, but the words halted on his tongue and he went back to frowning. He mulled over his gut reaction to deflect, examining what truth might lay behind her opinion.

His father had been fond of saying "A strong will can move mountains" and Ulfric had taken it to heart. This was an example of opportunity not taken—if he had truly wished to return to High Hrothgar, what in Oblivion could have stopped him? Was it any different than his motivation to leave it in the first place?

Ulfric shook his head. "You are a strange woman, Esmere Ice-Veins."

She snorted derisively and, in her usual way, said nothing. The look she gave him was clearly asking who he had to compare her to.

"A Lady, high-born noble and prophecized Savior of Skyrim who wants nothing to do with titles or fame." Ulfric raised an eyebrow in challenge. She only frowned so he continued. "A celebrated warrior and Thane who began as a bandit-killer."

Her eyes widened in shock and he nodded with a smug smile. "Aye, I've heard the stories about you. From Skald himself, in fact. Twelve bandit lairs cleared in half a year? That's an impressive streak, my Lady."

Esmere crossed her arms over her chest and eyed him suspiciously. "You've been asking about me?"

"Due diligence, Esmere." Ulfric said, stepping around her. "I wanted to know who I was dealing with."

She moved in the opposite direction so he remained in her sight. Without wholly realizing it, they began to circle one another. She tilted her chin up. "You couldn't have asked me?"

"How was I to know the truth?" Ulfric asked in return. "I certainly couldn't trust the accounts of your father. Who else knew you best? To be fair, you're not the most...forthcoming person I've ever met."

The tall grass crunched beneath their boots. Esmere shrugged. "Galmar and Yrsarald have spoiled you, it seems."

Ulfric laughed. It burst from him, echoing back from the hills and it had been time out of mind since he'd had anything to laugh about. They had stopped and there was less space between them than he'd thought. He was close enough to pick up the shades of green in her eyes. 

His voice was quiet when he spoke. "Perhaps being a Jarl has spoiled me."

"No." Ulfric could tell from the movement of her gaze that she was studying his face. "It has balanced you. Tempered you. Like good steel."

The compliment bloomed in his chest and he was suddenly lightheaded with a feeling he couldn’t place. He didn't have a memory of being able to speak to her with such ease and honesty before this. He'd only been this close to her physically once. 

Maybe it was the thought of that night in the throne room standing before her that spurred him, he wasn't sure, but Ulfric reached up and drew his thumb over the fading scar on her jaw. “I was there for this.”

Her eyes fluttering closed at his touch surprised him. When she replied, it sounded like a whisper. “Yes.”

He knew it was in answer to his statement but that one word was enough to set his blood on fire, his pulse hammering in an instant for nothing more than the sound of it. Words felt like they left his throat raw and his mouth dry. “I’m unsure if it is a testament to your strength or your insanity.”

“I was thinking it was luck.” She smiled, her eyelids rising slowly. 

They held each other’s gaze for far longer than necessary. His hand was suspended beneath her chin, frozen in place after the contact ended. He longed to continue exploring the planes of her face with his fingertips, only barely managing to keep himself from acting on it. It nearly broke his resolve when her attention dropped to his lips.

Ulfric swallowed, leaning back slightly. By the Divines, he wanted to walk down that path but this was not the place. He told himself they were still high spirited from taking Whiterun. It wouldn't do to misread intentions.

"Have…" Ulfric reached for something to say. "Have you eaten, my Lady?"

She raised an eyebrow but didn't seem upset. It eased Ulfric's own disappointment but not by much. She gestured for him to lead on and, together, they returned to camp. The sounds of nature kept it from being completely silent.

The sun had nearly set and camp was more lively than when he left. However, the further the two of them went, the more quiet it became. Heads were bowed in respect as Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak and the Dragonborn passed. He should have been used to it by now but, being in the camp had nearly felt like home. Being set apart by his status yet again was discouraging.

"Perhaps we shouldn't walk together." He murmured to her. "They don't seem to know what to do with themselves."

Esmere held her head high and her back straight, every inch the Lady her knew her to be. Her dirty Stormcloak armor did nothing to detract from her elegance in that moment and Ulfric understood, more now than ever, why his men were in awe. Her lips twitched. "Better they stop once than twice."

Ulfric stifled a laugh. Galmar found them almost immediately.

"Jarl Ulfric." Galmar didn't sound pleased. "You have a meal waiting for you in your tent."

Ulfric turned to invite Esmere to join him but she was gone. He sighed, knowing he'd have to deal with whatever scolding Galmar was about to give him. With the resolve of a Jarl, Ulfric stepped past the man in the bear hood and headed for his tent.

It was warm and much brighter than it had been outside, so much so that he almost felt the need to shield his eyes. He turned to face Galmar, removing his greatcoat with an unimpressed expression. Galmar squinted at him from beneath the bear teeth on his forehead, as if trying to decide something. Ulfric was patient but not when it came to getting one of his friend’s adamant speeches.

“Spit it out, Stone-Fist.” Ulfric crossed his arms, leaning against the edge of the table.

Galmar was still looking at him with the same narrow-eyed frown as before and there was a long pause before he spoke. “I shouldn’t have to say it twice, Ulfric.”

“I’d have to agree with that,” Ulfric replied. “You shouldn’t have said it in the first place.”

Galmar scowled at that. “We can’t afford you getting mixed up with something like this right now. It’s too public, too rash. We’ve only just won Whiterun…”

“I don’t understand why ‘something like this’ will have any effect on the outcome of the war, Galmar.” Ulfric crossed his ankles, disguising his discomfort with confidence.

Galmar paced, hands on his hips, as he did often during discussions. It was a small comfort to see something normal after all the chaos of the day. Galmar responded, “It’s not about the war, it’s about your reputation. Any woman you decide to... consort with will affect it, good and bad. Eventually, you’ll have to marry but, you know as well as I do, it can’t be just anyone.”

“As well as you do?” Ulfric almost laughed. “This isn’t your life we’re discussing, Galmar.”

Galmar stopped and stared at Ulfric. “Being High King comes with a heavy price to pay. You know this. Bedding anyone you want is one of the sacrifices you have to make.”

“Never once have I said I want to be High King! I’m doing this for the good of my people, not so I can rule!” Ulfric knew he was becoming angry and tried to control it. “We need the Empire out of Skyrim so we can rebuild. The next High King we crown needs to be able to wield that power and guide us toward a free Skyrim. That may not be me, Galmar. I may be better suited to rule than Torygg but that is far from saying I wish to be crowned in his place.”

Galmar considered that but stood his ground. “You  _ are _ better suited to rule.”

“Almost anyone would be better suited to rule.” Ulfric let Galmar chew on that angrily, not breaking eye contact. “Anyone but the Empire. Anyone but Elisif.”

The crackling of the braziers was the only sound for a moment. Finally, Galmar ground out, “At least we can agree on one thing.”

“Yes.” Ulfric stood, walking around the table to sit at the place set for him. “We won’t need to discuss it again, then, will we?”

Galmar didn’t say anything but Ulfric could feel his glare as the older man left the tent. Ulfric started in on his food, the same meal the soldiers were having. He may be a Jarl but he wouldn't feast in luxury while the men and women that laid down their lives at his command ate poorly. If it was enough for them, it would be enough for him.

As Ulfric lay down on his bedroll to wait for sunrise, he pondered the conversation with Esmere. It was the only thing his frantic mind would focus on without fleeting thoughts pulling him away.

She had seemed so open, emotional in a way she wasn't in front of others, and he wondered if she allowed herself to share that side of her with him alone. It showed a great amount of trust for her to be so vulnerable around another person, the same way she had fallen asleep in his presence. He smiled at the thought.

The next thing he knew, Ulfric could see sunlight seeping through the roof of his tent. He rose and dressed, ready to face a full day of his duties as a Jarl. 

He was accosted as soon as he left his tent, being pulled in a different direction every free moment he had. Between running a recovering city and managing a growing army, Ulfric had his hands full until after sunset. In fact, if Esmere hadn't entered his tent, he might not have stopped in time for the service. 

"Jarl Ulfric?" She asked from the opening of the tent. 

He and Galmar turned to see who had addressed him and Ulfric couldn't resist the urge to smile. With relief, of course. 

Galmar didn't give him a chance to speak. "What is it, Ice-Veins?"

"The men are gathered in the west field. They wait for you, " Her eyes narrowed slightly in Galmar's direction. " _ My Jarl _ ."

Ulfric raised his eyebrows at Galmar, waiting for the older man to snark back as he usually would. When Galmar merely grunted and waved Ulfric past him, Ulfric was genuinely surprised. Deciding not to comment, Ulfric followed Esmere away from the protection of camp and into the deepening dusk.

He could see from a distance the flames of many torches, men and women holding vigil over the bodies of their fallen comrades. There were so many torches, he wondered who was still available to keep watch but Ulfric understood their grief. Too many had died for them to be forgotten, too many to ignore their passage into Sovngarde.

The old priest that he had seen dancing beneath the shadow of Talos was there, praying over the pyres in the tradition of the Old Nordic rites. Ulfric approved greatly, coming to stand within the circle of light. He was flanked by Esmere and Galmar, both silent with reverence.

When the priest had finished his chanting, the elderly man turned to Ulfric and bowed. “Jarl Ulfric, would you honor us all with the final rite?”

Ulfric looked around as a majority of the men and women there created a rumbling of approval. He nodded, stepping forward to deliver a speech he hadn’t prepared. He hoped he remembered the ceremony correctly. It wouldn’t do to send off such loyal soldiers with a failure.

Ulfric cleared his throat and used a thread of Voice to project himself. “Brothers and sisters, we are here to mourn the passing of our friends and celebrate their chance to earn entry into Shor’s Hall. By the will of the Gods, they have died as all Nords should—with a weapon in their hand, fighting for their homeland.”

“By the will of the Gods.” Came the unified reply. He could pick out the voices of Galmar and the priest but, most clearly, the soft tone of Esmere still close behind. It strengthened him and he felt his chest rise and fall with the gravity of her presence.

Ulfric raised his arms, holding his hands out over the unlit pyres and recited the old words. “Arkay, God of beginnings and ends: you honor these men and women, who have fought bravely for their country, with a valiant death. We thank you for your wisdom.”

He waited as the gathered crowd responded, “Arkay, we thank you.”

“Talos, God of Men.” Ulfric continued. “We ask that you guide their souls to Sovngarde, that they may find their way to the Hall of Valor. Protect them from the Dragon-God on their travels, may he ever sleep.”

He paused, watching as nearly all the soldiers present lifted their crossed forearms in front of their chests, warding off the eyes of the Dragon-God, Alduin. As one they answered, “May he ever sleep.”

“Tsun, God of our trials: see fit to test these men and women, that they may be found worthy to cross your bridge into paradise. May they earn their place at the table of Shor.

Kyne, Mother of Men: we ask that you ease their hearts with your peace, that their mortal worries may come to an end. Let their pain and suffering cease in your embrace.

Shor, Father of Mundus: we ask that you watch over them in their eternity. May they never know battle or war again.”

As Ulfric lowered his arms, there were only the crackling sounds of fire and chirping insects. He gestured to the nearest Stormcloak holding a torch and the woman signaled others. They all stepped forward and lit the branches beneath the pyres, circling around them to ensure the flame was evenly dispersed.

As the fires began to catch, Ulfric raised his hands again. “May the Nine spread their blessings upon your immortal souls. May your spirits rest easy in the halls of Shor."

With nothing left to be said, Ulfric stepped back between Galmar and Esmere to watch the bodies burn. He reminded himself that their souls were now cleansed, prepared for the trials of Sovngarde and Tsun’s test. He closed his eyes for a moment, focusing on his faith and not the thought of how many had died in his name.

Ulfric felt something brush against his shoulder. Esmere had stepped closer, standing next to him as support. There was a brief moment where the backs of their hands touched and Ulfric felt appreciation for this woman well in his chest. He could not ask and she could not offer so she acted. It seemed she would never cease to amaze him.

They waited until the moon was high to depart. The pyres still burned but Ulfric wasn't able to put off the ride to Windhelm long enough for them to go out. Not only did he have an escort waiting for him but the scent of burning flesh reminded of his time in captivity. It was enough to have one dream in so many days. He didn’t need to incite more.

When Esmere finally nudged his shoulder, he pulled his eyes away from the fires to meet hers. Perhaps it was only his grief but he longed for her to embrace him. That he might rest his head on her shoulder, feel her hands against his hair, soothing away the pain. The look on her face told him she felt the same. They both knew this wasn’t the time or place.

Galmar led them toward the northwestern edge of camp. As agreed, a hand-picked group of soldiers was waiting, each with horses. Ulfric’s white stallion and Esmere’s black mare waited for them. They mounted in silence.

Glamar said to Ulfric, “I will expect news of your return by dusk tomorrow. Don’t get held up.”

“Don’t presume to tell your Jarl what to do, Stone-Fist.” Ulfric grinned down at him. They clasped forearms in goodbye and Galmar stood back to address Esmere.

"Keep an eye on him," Galmar stated, nodding to Ulfric.

Esmere guided her horse between Ulfric and Galmar, edging the older man backward witha sly grin on her face.

"Both eyes." She nodded and spurred the horse, trotting away.

Galmar shook his head, watching her go. "Nothing but trouble, that one."

Ulfric agreed wholeheartedly. 


	4. Bandit's Bane

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _So, I had to make up a name for this chapter because I needed a title that wasn't there._
> 
> _Also, I added a fun little OC in here for all our enjoyment. :)_

Ulfric did eventually admit to himself he was bored. The ride toward Windhelm so far had proven uneventful. While he was grateful, he was also certain it was the dullest thing he’d ever chosen to participate in. There were no anxious hours spent speeding toward a destination, no scenery to take in, no planning he could occupy his mind with. It was dark and they were the only occupants on the road. In fact, the only thing on this trip that had brought him any interest was riding beside him, yawning into the back of her hand.

“Getting tired, Ice-Veins?’ Ulfric said, smirking. His horse maintained a lazy walk and she reined back to match it, her eyes still scanning their surroundings, waiting for something to spring on them from the shadows.

She sighed, sending a baleful look his way. “I think this is the slowest I’ve ever ridden in my life.”

Her mount snorted as if in agreement and Ulfric chuckled. He couldn’t blame her. In fact, she had taken the words out of his mouth. There had been little talk since they’d left the camp at Whiterun, the soldiers on high alert for anything or anyone that might cross their path. As the hours passed, they all had become a little lax, no longer twitching at every bird or skeever rustling in the trees.

“Why  _ are _ we going so slow?” An Unblooded from the back asked. Ulfric shook his head and caught Esmere doing her best not to roll her eyes.

Luckily for the young man, a more seasoned warrior was willing to answer him. “You ever meet a group of galloping travelers? What’s the first thing that crosses your mind, hmm?”

“Uh…” the young man sheepishly began. “Probably ‘I wonder where they’re going’?”

The soldier that had spoken turned in her saddle. “Aye.  _ Interest _ . We don’t want anyone taking an interest in us right now.”

“But, don’t you think a group of travelers plodding along at night is just as interesting as one at a full gallop?” The young soldier asked and Ulfric almost smiled.

To everyone’s surprise, it was Esmere that replied. “Riding hard drowns out the sound of an ambush. Makes you miss things that might not come at you from straight ahead. We need all the advantages we can get.”

Ulfric studied her by the dim light of the moons, wondering what she was occupying her mind with as they rode. He wouldn’t ask but it was more engaging to imagine than staring blankly ahead of them.

“I don’t remember agreeing to that tactic.” Ulric rumbled, if only to be contrary.

Esmere tossed her braid over her shoulder and raised her eyebrow at him. “And what speed would the Jarl prefer? Break-neck or painfully slow?”

“I’d prefer to be home.” Ulfric shot back and a grumble of wistful agreement came from the soldiers behind them. Esmere clicked her tongue in annoyance but Ulfric could tell she was amused.

One of the soldiers wondered out loud, “Anyone here able to carry a tune?”

While most of them groaned, one cleared his throat and they all quieted. To the background of crickets, he sang, “ _ Our Hero, our Hero, claims a warrior's heart. I tell you, I tell you, the Dragonborn comes… _ ”

“Divines,  _ no _ !” Esmere protested, speaking to the sky and the singing stopped with a few sniggers from the other soldiers. Smirking, Ulfric felt the challenge rise in his chest. 

“What? Don’t like your own song, Dragonborn?” Ulfric asked and, before she could even sneer, he picked up where they had stopped. “ _ With a Voice wielding power of the ancient Nord arts. Believe, believe, the Dragonborn comes _ !”

Esmere’s deadly scowl was ruined by her attempts not to smile. “Remember what I said about ‘drowning out the sound of an ambush’? You’re more likely to draw attention to us with that than anything else with that caterwauling.”

“I think he has a wonderful singing voice,” a soldier defended.

Ufric turned to look at them, bowing slightly. “Thank you. I’m glad  _ someone _ appreciates it.”

Esmere clicked her tongue again, looking ahead instead of responding. Ulfric grinned, feeling as if he’d won. Just to annoy her, he continued humming.

“ _ We drink to our youth, to the days come and gone _ ,” It took Ulfric a moment to realize Esmere was the one singing now. She met his gaze and held it. “ _ For the age of oppression is now nearly done _ .”

Ulfric rolled his eyes for show, hoping to mask his surprise. Perhaps others would have said her voice was nothing spectacular but Ulfric would have wagered she was better than any of the bards in Windhelm. Even as the rest of the soldiers joined in, Ulfric remained too impressed to look away.

Esmere grinned as their voices reached a crescendo. " _ All hail to Ulfric, you are the High King! In your great honor, we drink and we sing _ !"

The smart remark he had in mind died on his lips when her head snapped forward and her face took on a hawk-like expression. She held up her fist and the voices quieted, their entourage suddenly on high-alert.

When he peered into the darkness ahead of them, he was able to make out something moving against the white stones of the road. There wasn't a way to be sure if it was only one figure or several but Ulfric didn't have time to try. Esmere drew her sword and spurred her horse ahead of the group.

"Solfrid, Idonea, to the front." Her voice was low and commanding, her eyes appearing to glow for a breath. "Halfdan and Gunne, protect the Jarl."

"And where are you going?" Ulfric wasn't about to be left behind to be protected like a milk-fed child.

She wheeled her steed around to face him again. There was no emotion behind her expression and he wasn't sure he was speaking to the Esmere he knew. She pointed her sword at him. "Stay, my Jarl, or you'll deal with me."

Two female soldiers positioned themselves before him and two males brought their horses to a halt on either side. Ulfric scowled, grumbling low in his throat. Just as he was considering taking off after her, the veteran, Solfrid, spoke from ahead of him. "I would listen to her, my Jarl. Your safety is our main concern."

"Also," the fresh-faced Gunne added from beside him, "I wouldn't want to get on her bad side."

Ulfric snorted in reply but stayed where he was out of respect for his soldiers, not because she told him to. No one ordered him around anymore. His mount stamped it's hoof in agitation, sensing that something was happening. He patted the stallion's neck, feeling much the same.

There was a sharp whistle in the distance and Solfrid turned in her saddle. "Kolifgar, ride ahead."

A soldier urged his horse into a gallop, kicking up clods of dirt as he passed. Two more soldiers repositioned on either side of Ulfric, tightening the circle around him. His annoyance grew.

The sound of a hooting owl reached them and Solfrid relaxed. "That's the all-clear. Let's move."

Ulfric was unable to surge forward as he was still boxed in by the riders around him. Scowling even more, he trudged along with them until Esmere and the soldier, Kolifgar, could be seen with another person on the road. There were dead bodies on the ground around them.

"Ice-Veins!" Ulfric called. Esmere turned her head for only a moment, unwilling to take her eyes off the man she held at sword point. "What have you found?"

Kolifgar jogged back to them, speaking to Ulfric. "He says he was traveling to Whiterun and found these...people on the road like this. Lady Ice-Veins wasn't able to find a weapon on him but there were things that he'd taken from...the…"

"A thief, then." Ulfric narrowed his eyes at the man in question before turning back to the young soldier. "I wouldn't let her hear you calling her that."

Kolifgar nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Excuse me." Ulfric nudged his mount and the soldiers parted to allow him to pass.

Esmere was waiting for him, the unknown thief staring at her sword. She had it pointed directly at his eye, so he didn’t have much of an option. Ulfric felt a smug satisfaction at the sight of her protecting her Jarl. “Thief. Explain yourself.”

“Jarl Ulfric?” The man asked, surprised and wary of his captor. “What are you doing here?”

Ulfric scowled, pulling his horse alongside the two of them. “I don’t answer to you, you answer to me. Who are you?”

The young man, for he was young despite the dark beard that covered his jaw, stammered. “M-my name is John Lumis.”

“A Breton.” Ulfric muttered and it came out like a curse.

Esmere gave him a stern look before turning back to her captive. She lowered the swordpoint to the hollow of his throat. “What are  _ you _ doing here, John Lumis?”

“Uh…” The thief, John, looked carefully around them. “Out for a walk?”

The swordpoint pressed into his flesh. Esmere growled, “ _ What were you doing?” _

“Ivarsted!” The man held up his hands. “I’m going to Whiterun from Ivarsted! I came across them like this, I haven’t killed anyone!”

Ulfric looked to Esmere with a raised eyebrow. She shook her head to move the hair from her eyes and supplied, “His blade was clean and cold. These people were killed with arrows and he has no bow.”

“Forsworn? Bandits?” Ulfric asked. Too late he remembered that the Forsworn didn’t come this far west, it was too far from The Reach. If anyone notes the mistake, it wasn't mentioned.

Esmere shook her head again. “I can’t tell, my Jarl. Just iron arrows, easy to come by. Which makes me think someone was using it as a disguise.”

“You think it was Thalmor?” Ulfric concluded, a sinking feeling in his chest. When she nodded, he cast his eyes around warily. “We need to make haste.”

Esmere lowered her sword to face him fully. “Jarl, we could be riding into a trap. It may have already sprung.”

“Then what do you suggest, Ice-Veins?” Ulfric spat. “We can’t wait here like tame rabbits!”

He wasn’t angry with her but he couldn’t quite control the panic seeping into his tone. She pursed her lips, turning her eyes to her prisoner instead. “Someone needs to take this  _ thief _ to Windhelm.”

“Are you saying we should split up?” a voice from his side interjected. Solfrid and the rest of their party had joined them, surrounding Ulfric much as they had before. Gunne gave him a solid smile and resumed his post on Ulfric’s other side. 

Ulfric turned back to Esmere. “What say you, Ice-Veins?”

“I think the rest of the party should take  _ this _ to Windhelm and the Jarl and I should travel northeast.” Esmere replied, not taking her eyes off the man before her. “Anyone watching would think they are a passing patrol and not bother them.”

Solfrid snorted. “And leave the Jarl unprotected? Not a chance in Oblivion.”

“But he’ll have the Dragonborn with him!” Gunne exclaimed.

Solfrid gave the boy a sharp look but the damage had been done. The thief spoke up. “You’re the...Dragonborn?”

There was a lurch of movement as the man stepped back and Esmere followed him, never dropping the sword from his throat. His eyes were wide with terror-filled awe as he stared. “You’re the  _ Dragonborn _ ? Please don’t kill me. Or do because being killed by the Dragonborn would be an amazing story.”

Esmere snorted and lowered her sword. She glanced at Solfrid. “Do you have any rope to bind him?”

She did and they spent the next few minutes tying him securely. The veteran took the remaining length of rope and used it as a lead for the prisoner. At her signal, the rest of the group made their way around Ulfric to stand guard around the Breton thief instead. 

Solfrid took a last look at Ulfric and Esmere. “Are you sure about this plan, Ice-Veins?”

“As sure as Shor, Solfrid.” Esmere smiled her rare, genuine smile. “Get our men out of here and be careful.”

The two women clasped forearms in departure, Solfrid adding. “As you say. Men! On me!”

Esmere glared at John as he wandered past and murmured her goodbyes as each soldier passed by. Ulfric hadn’t known she was so familiar with them. “You know them well?”

“I hand-picked this group, my Jarl.” She said, climbing on her horse. “I know each of them and their abilities. Except Gunne, he’s just a tag-a-long with Solfrid.”

Now that they were alone, she seemed far more talkative. Ulfric managed a chuckle, despite his growing concern. “He does seem quite green.”

“Solfrid is sponsoring him. It’s possible they are related somehow, her nephew perhaps. She’s teaching him how to stay alive, which is good.” Esmere adjusted the reins and settled more comfortably. “Are you ready?”

Ulfric nodded, smirking. “As sure as Shor.”

She gave him a sly grin and pointed her horse north. “Get on, Eimhir.”

“Eimhir?” Ulfric asked after spurring his mount to her side. “You named your horse ‘swift’?”

Esmere shook her hair, flipping a loose lock over her shoulder. “She is ‘nimble’, my Jarl, more than anything else.”

She patted her horse fondly and the mare snorted. Ulfric shrugged, unprepared when the question was turned on him. “And you? What did you name such a gorgeous beast?”

“His name is Bjarke.” Ulfric felt smug in the complement of his horse.

Esmere laughed and Ulfric could see the moon in her eyes when she did. “You named your  _ horse _ after a legendary  _ bear _ .”

All the pride he’d felt a moment before disappeared and he frowned. “It is a good story. The unnamed hero was my idol as a child.”

“Aah, that explains it.” Esmere lowered her voice, scanning the horizon. “Has nothing to do with your affinity toward bears.”

Ulfric glowered, picking up his pace. “I have nothing of the sort.”

“Oh, really?” Esmere matched him for speed and they kept at a steady trot. “Your emblem is a bear, you are called The Bear. By Oblivion, even your father was a Bear!”

Ulfric didn’t want to consider it, despite that logic. “Watch yourself, Dragonborn.”

“As you say.” Esmere dropped the subject with hurt disappointment at the use of the title. “Come, Eimhir. Bjarke. Hyaah!”

\-----

They rode hard off to the side of the road to mask their horses' hoofbeats as much as possible. For what felt like hours they moved at a gallop, pushing his warhorse to his limits. He wondered if Esmere’s steed was faring any better when they suddenly let up and came to a stop.

Ulfric was relieved to see a familiar sight looming in the distance—Valtheim Towers. It marked the border between Whiterun and Eastmarch and spanned the Banning River for travelers to cross. It seemed to have crumbled slightly on the northern shore but the bridge was still passable. He decided he needed to speak to Vignar about their Holds working together to repair it.

Esmere spun her horse around to face him and Ulfric could hear the rasp of her heavy breathing. “I am not familiar with this area. Are those towers safe, my Jarl?”

“As safe as anywhere else around here, I’m sure.” Ulfric frowned. “It isn’t manned by either of the Holds. I would tread carefully as it is more than likely bandits we will meet.”

She seemed to have expected the answer, looking behind her at the looming towers. “I think we should leave the horses and continue on foot until we know more.”

“Leave them?” Ulfric asked as she dismounted. “They’ll be stolen!”

Esmere ignored him, removing her horse’s bit and tucking it into a saddlebag. “Not my Emihir. She’s too good to be stolen, aren’t you?”

The horse nickered in response, rubbing her muzzle against Esmere’s cheek. Ulfric dismounted, following Esmere’s lead, removing Bjarke’s bit and reins so the horse could graze more easily. To Ulfric’s surprise, the mare then wandered over to Bjarke and stamped her hoof as if impatient. The warhorse snorted and after a moment of eyeing one another, the two horses moved into the trees in unison. Ulfric started to believe Esmere’s horse was actually a daedra in disguise.

Esmere and Ulfric crouched low, sneaking closer to the towers through the shadows. Before letting her horse go, Esmere had taken a bow she had strapped to the saddle. Now she stopped and knocked an arrow but not drawing back. "I see a fire."

"A cook fire." Ulfric added, his stomach suddenly rumbling.

Esmere chuckled, moonlight in her eyes again. "I guess we know where your mind is."

Ulfric tried to scowl and didn’t succeed. They watched a female in hide armor busying herself around the fire, making a meal or keeping the fire going, they couldn’t tell. Esmere drew her bow, lining up her shot until Ulfric stopped her.

“How do we know this woman is a bandit?” Ulfric asked. “She may be innocent.”

Esmere narrowed her eyes. “Do you want to ask her?”

“Perhaps.” Ulfric hesitated. “Keep her in your sights, though.”

Ulfric stood, leaving Esmere in the bushes with her bow drawn. It only took him four steps before the woman hailed him.

“Traveler! Stop where you are!”

Ulfric halted, holding his hands up. “I don’t want any trouble.”

“There’s a toll to cross this bridge, friend.” The woman got closer to him though the night made her features impossible to see against her dark skin.

Ulfric scoffed. “A toll? How much?”

“300 septims.” She paused more than a sword-length away from him, out of range for close combat. “Or I can take it off you after you’re dead.”

Ulfric was saddened by her statement. “Then I guess you’ll be a corpse robber.”

She drew an iron knife, small and barely useful against a larger target. As she stepped forward to slash at him, an arrow appeared in her temple and she slumped sideways before the bandit made a sound. Esmere trotted up a moment later and they both looked down at the woman.

“Are you glad you asked?” Esmere asked.

Ulfric sighed. “Yes.”

Esmere said nothing. She bent down and took the woman’s knife, shoving it in her boot and they moved as quietly as they could forward. Snow began to fall as they reached the towers, the campfire a beacon in the increasing weather. Ulfric snatched a piece of horker jerky from a nearby table and bit off a piece. Esmere raised an eyebrow but only turned away, bow at the ready. Ulfric continued to chew.

On the second floor landing, another thug stood watch. Esmere handed the bow to Ulfric, who hadn’t handled one in years, and crept up the stairs behind the oblivious man. Blood poured from the cut on his neck, put there by the blade Esmere had taken from the previous bandit. She lowered him carefully to the ground so as not to create a disturbance but the man’s sword clattered in its sheath. Ulfric held his breath, waiting to see if someone would hear.

“Who’s there?” A male from the next floor shouted. In a quieter tone, he muttered, “I thought I heard something.”

Esmere motioned for Ulfric to follow and he quietly drew an arrow, keeping it pointed at the ground as they climbed. The bandit above them stood facing the stairs, making it nearly impossible for Esmere to sneak up on him.

Before she could move, Ulfric loosed an arrow toward the doorway on the other side of the room and the bandit drew his sword, turning to face the unseen threat. Esmere gave him an impressed glance before sprinting toward the man and killing him as well. Ulfric wasn’t sure how he felt about it but it was becoming more apparent that this was something she was very good at.

A candle burned low on one of the tables and they edged around it to stop their shadows from giving them away. Ulfric spied the arrow he’d fired laying in the doorway and bent to retrieve it when Esmere pushed him into the wall next to the doorway. He grunted as she pinned him with her back, doing his best not to focus on the weight of her body against his. Now was  _ not _ the time or place for thoughts like that.

She peered around the doorway for a moment before leaning back against his chest. She whispered, “I can see one on the bridge.”

“There’s something in my way.” Ulfric canted his hips forward enough for her to know he was talking about her. She glared at him over her shoulder before sinking to her knees and rolling past the doorway.

“Huh?”

The bandit on the bridge must have noticed something and Ulfric readied another arrow. He wouldn’t have much time to aim and he steadied himself to make a moving shot. He pointed his arrow out the doorway and fired with little effort, less surprised than thankful when it hit its mark and the man fell off the side of the bridge. The splash from below was barely audible against the rushing of the river.

Ulfric looked down to where Esmere crouched and realized she was staring. She didn’t look away, only gazed up at him through her lashes with a smirk on her lips. He felt a shiver pass through him and it wasn’t because of the dropping temperature. If it were any other situation, he would feel like she wanted him. Now, though, he took it as a compliment to a good shot and left it at that.

They hurried across the bridge, pleasantly surprised that they met no other bandits on the other side. The snowfall had begun to deepen, making it hard to see the road from the tower northward. Esmere sighed and began looking around them. “We need shelter for the night.”

“The tower has no roof. What do you suggest?” Ulfric slung the bow over his shoulder and began to test the crates resting against the wall for dryness. It would be possible to use them for kindling or firewood.

Esmere was doing something similar, shoving things aside and temporarily barricading the doors. After a minute of hearing only crates being moved, she made a noise of happy discovery. “How about a cellar?”

In shifting the boxes, she had uncovered a door that undoubtedly led downward. Ulfric shrugged, not seeing another option if they wanted to get out of the storm and helped her make a torch to carry with them. By its light, they descended the stairs.

The first thing Ulfric noticed, besides the scent of rot and damp, was the cobwebs. At first, they were small and hindering, hanging delicately in the corners but slowly they became bigger. Thicker ropes of webbing blocked their way as they continued down, Esmere needing to draw her sword at one point to get them through a thick sheet of it. Ulfric’s skin crawled wondering how large a spider had to be to make a web like that.

“Are you alright?” Esmere said, burning through another web with the torch. “You seem tense.”

They had finally reached the bottom of the stairway which led out into an open, circular room. Once she had burned most of the webbing away from the door, they stepped through and surveyed the area. Ulfric felt a tingling at the back of his neck and knocked an arrow in the bow. Esmere raised her eyebrow in question.

“Spiders.” He tried not to sound affected but they were the only beast in Skyrim that created fear in him. He would rather face a giant sabercat with his fists than deal with spiders.

Esmere looked like she might laugh. “Truly? The mighty Ulfric Stormcloak is scared of spiders?”

“Frostbite spiders, Ice-Veins.” Ulfric pointed the arrow above them, prepared for one to drop down at any moment. “They are not to be taken lightly.”

Now, she did laugh, gesturing with her arms to the sides to show there was nothing to be afraid of. “I am in disbelief! What could one spider possibly…”   
  
“Watch out!” Ulfric cried, aiming his arrow behind her. He fired once, missing as the creature scuttled sideways to avoid him and leapt for Esmere with speed unbefitting a creature so cumbersome.

Esmere fell, the spider beginning to coat her legs in webbing and she scrambled to get away. Kicking it in the head, she finally managed it, but Ulfric could not take a shot for fear of hitting her. When she had backed away enough, Ulfric let his arrow fly and it sunk into the meat of its thorax.

The spider sank down, mewling noises coming from its disgusting mouth and Ulfric stepped up to it. He put another arrow through its skull, right between its six ugly eyes, to be sure it was dead. When it ceased its thrashing, he turned to Esmere.

“One spider can kill you and digest you for years to come.” Ulfric asked haughtily as she pulled the sticky webbing off her legs.

She scowled as she rose from the floor but her response was light. “Then I should thank you, my savior.”

Ulfric grunted and leaned the bow and quiver against the wall. They had no bedrolls and no firewood but there was a chest sitting unopened in the shadows. When Ulfric tested the clasps, he found it locked tight. Esmere was at his side in a moment.

“And what have we here?”

She knelt down, a lockpick in hand and set to work. Ulfric had nothing else to do but watch her slender hands as they prodded and twisted the rusted metal into opening. He thought he shouldn’t be fascinated with her skills but found it very difficult not to be. The stories he’d heard from Skald were obviously more than just rumor.

When the lid opened with a loud groan, Esmere reached for the torch that lay on the ground. Holding it out to him, he held it above her so she could peer into the depths of it and remove what lay inside. She found two slightly damp bedrolls, a potion bottle, three septims and a scroll.

“Well, I suppose we can break it down for firewood.” Esmere muttered after removing all the items. “The bedrolls won’t be much better than the floor.”

Ulfric laid them out anyway, hoping the air might dry them a little. If they could get a fire started, all the better. It took Esmere three kicks to break the chest apart and the two of them set to building a fire. Once it was prepared, Esmere searched in her pockets for flint and came up empty-handed.

“What about that scroll?” Ulfric asked, holding the torch closer. “It would make good kindling.”

She unrolled it and hummed to herself. “It’s a spell. For fire.”

It took one word and the fire burst to life, catching Ulfric off guard and casting him back toward the wall. Esmere ran to his side, checking his head where it had connected with a fallen stone. “My Jarl! I am so sorry. Are you alright?”

“Yes.” Ulfric grumbled, still holding the torch high above them. “Only my pride is wounded.”

Esmere chuckled and then stopped. “I should not laugh. I laughed at the spiders and look what happened.”

“Soon, now, we will be beset by pride.” Ulfric shook his head. “And who will save you then, hmm?”

Esmere smiled and helped him to stand. Ulfric pulled the horker meat from his pouch and tore it, handing the unbitten half to her. She took it gratefully and they ate in silence except for the crackling of the fire.

As Ulfric was beginning to wonder how long the storm would last, Esmere shook herself. It was an odd, almost involuntary motion but it wracked her whole body when it happened. Ulfric looked at her with confusion. “Esmere?”

“I am...oh, I am cold.” She shivered again, rubbing her arms. “I should not be this cold.”

Worry crept into Ulfric’s chest and he moved closer to her. “Were you hurt? Even a scratch?”

“The spider...it must have been.” She searched herself with trembling hands. She froze when she touched her leg, pulling away bloody fingers. “I don’t even feel it.”

Ulfric grabbed the bow and quiver before moving to look at her leg. “They have a delayed poison. I should have thought of that.”

A gash ran down her calf, nearly from knee to ankle. There were no bandages so Ulfric grabbed a handful of spiderwebs and wiped at the oozing wound. Esmere hissed at the contact and Ulfric winced. The wound was painful when directly touched but she could not feel the area around it, which worried him. The poison was moving quickly. 

“Lay still.” Ulfric told her, pressing her back until she lay on the bedroll. He picked up the potion that had come from the chest and handed it to her. “Can you tell what this is?”

Ulfric picked up the bow and scanned the room, his eyes sharp for any movement. He hated spiders—mostly because they were cunning predators. One spider to poison the prey and the rest lay in wait for the poison to paralyze it. That way, even if the first one died, the rest would still feed. 

He heard a rustling in one of the dark crevices. He aimed in the general direction, waiting to see movement. He didn’t look away to ask, “What is it, Esmere?”

“I’m not sure.” She sighed, sounding tired. “It smells like...a healing potion.”

Ulfric watched the shadows carefully. “I need you to drink it.”

“But…!”

Ulfric looked away for a moment. “I need you to drink it  _ now _ !”

That was when the spiders struck. The first one knocked him over, it’s dripping mandibles snapping at his face as he held it off. He managed to stab it with an arrow under the chin and throw it off him, away from Esmere. The second one was bigger.

A squelching sound came from behind him and he spun only to find Esmere’s hilt sticking out of the back of a third creature. There was no time for thank yous as the second and fourth came at him. He wrestled one backward with the bow while trying to avoid their legs. When he was far enough back, Esmere threw her small blade and it sunk into one of the spider’s heads.

Ulfric shot the remaining spider three times. The last two shots purely out of spite. 

“At least you can kill the damned things.” Esmere sank back to the floor. “I never knew you were so good with a bow.”

Ulfric dropped his weapon and knelt beside her. “Did you drink it?”

“No...couldn’t.” She sighed, her eyes slipping closed.

He moved quickly, lifting her head the best he could and uncorked the bottle, slipping the mouth of the bottle between her lips. He poured carefully so she didn’t choke, waiting patiently until the entire bottle was gone. “Esmere?”

“Hmm?” She didn’t open her eyes. He nudged her until they did. “What?”

Ulfric exhaled a brief laugh. “Stay awake for me, Esmere. You have to stay awake.”

“Ulfric?”

It was a heady thing to hear his name from her lips. It was the first time in his memory that she’d done so without use of his title and it gladdened him. “Yes?”

“You’re a pain.” She smiled softly, closing her eyes again.  
  
He lifted her, moving himself to sit beneath her head and keep her propped up. “And I will continue to be a pain until you are well enough to sleep.”

She let out a frustrated groan, leaning on him heavily as if it would stop him from moving her. When he’d gotten himself comfortable, she dug her shoulder into his chest for a moment before settling down.

“Frostbite poison makes you sleep. You need to stay awake until it has run its course. Talk to me.” Ulfric nudged her again with his knee.

She grunted. “I don’t like spiders.”

Ulfric laughed, lifting her hair over his leg gently. “Now you can understand my feelings toward them. Are you hungry?”

“No. Don’t feed me spiders.”

His shoulders sank. Hunger would be a good sign that her body was pushing the poison out but there was also the fact that they’d eaten the rest of the horker meat. He was sure there was more up above at the cook fire but he wasn’t about to leave her to get it. He rested against the wall and smoothed her locks against his leg.

“Tell me about Bruma.”

She snorted. “You want to know about my childhood?”

“I want you to stay awake and regaling me with memories of where you grew up seems like a good way to do so.” Ulfric began combing the tresses on his leg with his fingers.

She sighed. “I had a rather boring childhood. Mother and Father were members of the Countess’ court and I was tutored in all things Cyrodil. I enjoyed history and archery, when my father finally allowed me a bow.”

“You have decent aim. I am very impressed.” Ulfric agreed.

She turned to look at him, firelight glittering in her eyes. “Says Ulfric Spider-Killer. Have you always hidden your talent? I’ve never even seen you with a bow.”

“I don’t like ranged attacks. I prefer a good sword and solid shield but it doesn’t mean I’m unable to shoot.” Ulfric felt a small burning of pride in his chest.

She shifted her head again to get comfortable, rubbing it against his leg. “That bandit on the bridge. That was a feat.”

“Thank you.” He smiled. “What did you do when you weren’t studying? Come on.”

She grumbled before answering. “My friend and I would sneak out of the city and see who could climb to the ruins of Cloud Ruler Temple the fastest. That was our favorite past-time.”

“I don’t know of it.” Ulfric worked a knot of her hair, easing it free.

She sighed, not minding his ministrations. “It was the home of the Blades during the Oblivion Crisis. I loved to wander the halls and imagine what it was like when they were still there. The entire building was filled with history. The armory was where I learned sword-play.”

“With your friend, I assume?” Ulfric asked idly.

She was quiet long enough that he had to check that she still had her eyes open. “Yes.”

“Are you no longer friends?” He asked, unsure of why she had stopped.

She looked at Ulfric, a deep sadness in her eyes. “He’s dead.”

He cleared his throat to distract him from his surprise. “I am sorry for your loss.”

“I lost very little. It is his wife and child that are still in mourning.”

Again, Ulfric struggled not to look surprised. Though he searched, there was nothing he could say. Instead of continuing on the topic, he ran his fingers through her hair from root to end. “Tell me of your mother, I know very little about her.”

“She is kind.” Esmere smiled at nothing, her eyes unfocused. He could see a great deal of love for her mother there. “She may not have the common sense Arkay gave a goat but she is caring and patient. Otherwise, she wouldn’t be with my father.”

Ulfric hummed in thought. “Your father is a... strange man.”

“You said that about me, too.” She glanced up at him from his lap, sending a shiver down his spine. “I hope it is not the same kind of compliment.”

He smirked. “In his case, I don't think it is necessarily a good thing.”

She laughed, seeming more enthusiastic now. “Do you wish to know why we left Bruma?”

He shrugged, satisfied either way. She shook her head at her memories. “He lied to the Countess about some quest he’d done. One day, some young adventurer came in and claimed that right for himself, proof in his hands and the Countess was furious. We left to avoid being further disgraced.”

“How old were you when that happened?” Ulfric asked, bewildered by her statement.

She thought about it. “We left two months before my seventeenth spring.”

He nodded, unable to say more. She was young when she came to Skyrim but not so young as to forget her homeland. He considered it, stroking her hair, wondering if Bruma still belonged to the Nords as everyone said. That was not a place in Cyrodil he had ventured during his time there.

She hummed contentedly and distracted him from his thoughts. Her eyes were closed but he could see it was not from sleep that she was resting them. She was like a cat being petted—her back arched against his leg when his fingers raked against her scalp and stretched as his fingers traveled away from it. She was enjoying his touch.

The thought made him stop. She opened her eyes after a moment and gazed up at him. Time seemed to stretch between them, a minute lasting an eternity and they only stared at one another. Her lips parted and he watched them with fascination. “Ulfric? I’m not tired anymore.”

“Good.” He nearly stuttered. “That means the poison has nearly run its course. Can you feel your leg?”

She sat up at his prompting, touching her leg where the gash had been. “Yes but no pain. I guess it was a healing potion after all.”

“Very good.” Ulfric felt as nervous as he had in the fields near Whiterun when he thought she might kiss him. He redirected his attention to stoking the fire and getting a fair distance away from her. 

She shuffled around, laying down on her bedroll and propping her head up on her arm. She watched him busy himself with a raised eyebrow, not saying anything. He decided, after the fire was seen to, that he would not leave her in silence.

“My mother was a wise woman.” Ulfric began, leaning back on the other bedroll nearby. “She helped my father in every capacity, running the palace with the same poise and calm she used to help him run the Hold. She always made time for me and my brother, which endeared her to me all the more.”

Esmere tucked her arm under her chin. “You have a brother?”

“Had.” He sighed, looking into the fire and remembering his brother’s face and golden hair, so much like his own. “Ulstold. He and my father died in battle. I was laboring in the belly of Cidna Mine at the time, imprisoned after what they call the Markarth Incident. I know he was not proud of me for my actions nor was I able to convince him otherwise.”

Esmere said nothing but he could feel her pity through her gaze. “It was a dark time for me, having come back from Cyrodiil to meet strangers I had once known. I know now that I ran to Markarth with good intentions of freeing them from tyranny but, beneath it all, I was merely trying to make my father proud. When I failed, I failed him and I’ve never been able to forgive myself.”

“Were you able to attend their funerals?” Esmere asked quietly.

Ulfric’s laugh held no humor. “Aah, no. Such is the love of the Emperor for his subjects. My mother delivered my eulogy for me. I wrote it by candlelight with a makeshift quill. Ink and paper were the only things the guards were willing to let me have. It was not my best but it said everything that needed to be said. I was glad they were willing to deliver it to her on my behalf.”

“That is too harsh a punishment.” Esmere scowled. “They should have let you go.”

Ulfric shrugged. “They did, eventually. I was hot-headed and arrogant. My time in the mines helped me grow into a man from a warrior. The only regret that I have is not being able to speak to my father before his death.”

There were a few minutes of quiet, the crackling of the fire the only noise in the damp room. He picked at a piece of broken wood, tossing parts he tore off into the flames as a way to pass the time. 

“What happened when you got out?” She was watching him, her chin still resting on her forearm.

Ulfric sighed. “I returned to a city in mourning. My mother had become sick and was bedridden, the Hold was riddled with problems and bandits nipping at the heels of floundering farmsteads. It surprised me that I was not the only one bitter and grieving. The people were calling out for justice over my father and brother’s deaths, wanting some closure for the skirmish that had taken them. I don’t think anything I’ve ever done has justified that battle but I have tried. I had little say in what came after that.”

“What was that?” She asked, nearly whispering.

“They sat me on the Throne of Ysgramor and told me to rule.” He said, looking at her plaintively. “The throne of kings, the throne of my father. At one time, it was to be the throne of my brother. Even now I hope I can prove worthy of the honor.”

She sat up, holding his gaze. “Ulfric. You have done more than enough to show your worth. I am sorry that you doubt it.”

He had little words for her after that but the sentiment stayed with him for hours after. He let her sleep first, having been wounded and poisoned, and let her take the second watch when she woke in the early hours. Sleep found him more easily than he’d imagined but she didn’t need to wake him when it was time to leave.

The next day was bright and still snowing, not much warmer than the night before. Esmere led them across the bridge to gather their horses, who returned at the sound of her whistle. The black of Eimhir’s coat stood out against the snow and Bjarke seemed grey in comparison to the paleness surrounding them. 

“There’s my girl!” Esmere exclaimed, kissing the horse on the muzzle. Bjarke eyed Ulfric warily as if he expected his master to do the same. Ulfric patted his neck, not wishing anything in the slightest.

Ulfric put the bit back in his steed’s mouth and mounted. “In this weather, we should make it by nightfall.”

“Well before, if I have anything to say about it.” Esmere mounted as well, nudging her mare forward.

They spoke little on the ride back, the snow covered roads not a problem for their horses as they followed the river back to Windhelm. Crossing the causeway into the city was met with cheers from the guards and citizens that had heard the news from Whiterun. Esmere graced the people surrounding her horse with a benevolent smile, clasping arms and hands where they could be reached. Ulfric did the same, grinning proudly at the congratulations and well-wishes.

He was home and it was a good place to be.

Once they made it to the palace, Ulfric took the chance to call for a courier and to hunt down Solfrid. The veteran warrior was the first to arrive, informing him that the party and the prisoner had arrived in one piece. They had locked the thief in a cell and sent news to Galmar of what had happened. Ulfric thanked her and turned to the courier that trotted up beside them.

In a short time, the courier was dispatched to Whiterun with two messages. Firstly, report to Galmar the events of the previous night and secondly, bring orders to Vignar Grey-Mane to discuss the repair and manning of Valtheim Towers.

He didn’t see Esmere for the rest of the day, which disappointed him, but heard from Jorleif that she had visited Wuunferth shortly after arriving. Ulfric nodded, thinking she had made a good choice to have herself checked for any remaining poison. Part of him already missed her but something told him, the coming storms would keep her close at hand. Perhaps, as sometimes was the way with being shut in, he would find his fill of her presence.


	5. Bone-Breaker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Sexy times ahead! (just a teaser)_

"Why are there Argonians living on the docks?" 

Ulfric had barely sat himself in his throne before she started speaking and he was already regretting his decision to grant her a private audience. "Come again?"

"Argonians." She stared at him cooly, hands clasped before her. "Living on the docks."

She was out of uniform, wearing the sapphire blue gown and a silver circlet to hold back her unbound hair. It wasn't often she looked like a true lady of court but it did her no favors today. Not when she was picking a fight. 

"What of it?" Ulfric rumbled, fighting the urge to scowl. 

One eyebrow rose, her only reaction so far. "Why?"

He exhaled slowly through his nose. She had only discovered the culprit behind the murders plaguing the city two days prior, earning her the new title of Bone-Breaker and now this. With the storms raging across Eastmarch, she'd stayed in Windhelm longer than she was used to. Apparently, she'd taken to walking around the city in her free time, which did not bode well for him.

"Out with it, Dragonborn."

His use of her title chilled her demeanor even more. "Why aren't they allowed in the city,  _ my Jarl? _ "

"Safety."

She was not impressed with the answer. "Theirs? Or yours?"

Ulfric decided not to answer that. He had upheld the law decreeing anyone of Argonian race would not be allowed inside the city and he would stand by it. He didn't need to defend his actions to anyone, even the Dragonborn.

When she realized he wasn't going to respond, she huffed out a humorless laugh. She shook her head, schooling her face once more into the stoic facade he hated seeing. Her voice held an edge where it had been calming before. "Safety, you say? You have  _ pirates _ raiding your shipments and you're worried about fishermen and their families? You have beggars on your streets,  _ children _ without homes, people without jobs, and you cry out 'safety'? Within your own walls there was a gods-damned  _ murderer _ …"

"Watch your tongue or you will leave." Ulfric could feel his temper beginning to rise.

She closed her eyes, blew out a slow breath and resumed. "What do you plan to do with the Gray Quarter?"

"What do you mean?" He asked, even though he already knew. 

Anger blazed from her eyes though her features revealed none of it. "I've spoken with Suvaris Atheron."

"Of course you have." Ulfric managed not to scoff.

Esmere cleared her throat before looking back up at him. "She told me she has been here three times this month requesting your attention to the poor drainage in the streets and the sewers leaking into people's homes. Yet nothing has been done."

"There is a war going on. I am not able to spare enough resources to address every little issue they have." Ulfric had told the damned Elf the same thing. "It is not possible at the moment."

He felt it when her Thu'um began to build and he instinctively tensed all the muscles in his body when she took a deep breath. He could withstand it, if she Shouted, but she would not be long for this world if she did. He almost hoped she would, almost hoped she would release the fire of her personality instead of caging it in the frozen prison of court manners. He was disappointed.

"I would wager," she began, carefully, "if one of the Nords of this city mentioned they were having one of these “little issues” it would have been fixed by now."

Ulfric sat up a little straighter. "Are you accusing me of something?"

"I am." She lifted her chin. "Jarl Ulfric, I accuse you of neglect."

It took everything within him not to stand from his seat. " _ Excuse _ me?"

"You are  _ neglecting _ your  _ citizens _ , Jarl!" she stated with emphasis, her temper rising. She wasn't about to back down and it fueled his anger even as it wounded his pride. "The people of this city are in need, and no one is helping them!"

Ulfric clenched his jaw to the point of pain. "I have always ruled with my people's best interests…"

"In order to act in someone's best interest you have to  _ know _ them!" she finally yelled, her Thu’um crackling through the threads of her voice. Before he could reprimand her for interrupting him, she continued. "In order to know them, you have to  _ see them as people _ ! Can you say you know them, Jarl Ulfric? Or are you too busy judging your safety on their race?"

Ulfric, though surprised, was only barely controlling himself. "You will not put words in my mouth."

"As you say, my Jarl." She calmed, her hands tight around each other. When she looked at him again, the flare of anger had subsided and her stoic facade had returned. "Enlighten me."

"You are a Nord, but you were not born here. You don't understand…"

"I know Nordic culture, my Jarl." She interrupted, again. "I know it well enough to know that it has nothing to do with race and  _ everything _ to do with  _ honor _ ."

Ulfric would be damned if he would allow anyone to question his honor. He stood, storming down the stairs of his throne to tower over her. She glared at him, not moving an inch, as he growled in her face. "Say. That. Again."

Her eyes flitted over his face, lips pursed to hold herself in check. At this proximity, he could sense her Thu’um more clearly, the shades and shivers of anger tainting what he had been taught to keep clean. Sitting on his throne, perhaps her tone and posture could appear aloof but she could not hide her fury when he was this close to her. She didn’t glare at him but her voice was anything but kind.

"Obviously, you didn't hear me. Let me clarify." She leaned forward slightly, all the better to spit the words at him. "You, Jarl Ulfric, are a stubborn, selfish, racist pig."

A small piece of him broke at her words. Had he not been so angry, he may have been able to step back and examine what she'd said. However, in the moment, he could only see red. He seethed. "You would dare insult me? In my own throne room?"

"If the truth is insulting, you have only yourself to blame." 

She was unrepentant, even when the toes of their boots were nearly touching. He wondered for a moment at her gall, her unwillingness to back down against a larger opponent when he was suddenly reminded this was the woman that had taken down  _ dragons _ . Of course she wasn't intimidated by him.

Ulfric wasn't about to be intimidated either. "You think because you're the Dragonborn you can go anywhere you please, say anything you like and your wishes will be granted?"

"Do you think, perhaps, it is  _ because _ I am the Dragonborn that I can say this to you?" Her eyes narrowed. "There are many who would speak behind your back but how many could say it plainly to your face,  _ Jarl Ulfric _ ?"

Ulfric wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer.

He continued, his tone venomous. "This may come as a surprise, but the world is not yours to command. I have ruled this hold for more than a decade to the betterment of the men and women who live here. I have upheld my honor, time and again, fighting for those who cannot defend themselves. We all have someone to answer to, Dragonborn. I answer to my people."

"And do you know what your people say?" She was deadly calm. "They say you are uncaring. Calloused. War-hungry. They think you care more about becoming High King than you do caring for your own people. How well will you rule Skyrim if this is how you rule your Hold?"

He stepped back, giving his doubt room to grow. 

There was no warmth on her features. "Would you like to guess who thinks that? It isn't the Shatter-Shields, I can tell you."

She came closer but not to intimidate. Instead, the harshness in her eyes seemed to lessen as she continued. "The best interest of your people means  _ all  _ of your people, Ulfric. Not just the ones of your race."

There was a moment where they simply looked at each other, tempers cooling, and considered where this had led them. Distantly, he realized she'd called him by name, dropping the pretenses of court to speak plainly. She was appealing to him as a man, not a Jarl, and it made him reconsider his opinions. 

Eventually, he allowed himself to speak. "And what, exactly, would you have me do?"

She laughed. The sound of it was too bright, too cheerful for their dark moods and he winced. She gave him a calculating look, more untrusting than he'd ever seen on her. "Would you truly take a suggestion? Or would you spit on it and tell me to ride my opinion to Oblivion?"

"Damn your Dragonborn arrogance." Ulfric glared. More calmly, he added, "Speak."

The calculating look returned as she weighed her options. For a minute or so they stood like that in the middle of the Palace of Kings, ready to Shout or speak, depending on what she decided. He could see in her eyes when she'd made up her mind.

"There are people who need work, and jobs that need to be done." She tipped her head in the direction of the war room, not taking her eyes off of his. "You say there is a war going on but you can't stand here and tell me you run a war and a Hold from the same coin purse."

Ulfric considered that without looking away. "So, what then?"

"Pay your outcasts to build themselves a home." She shrugged one shoulder as if it were a simple solution. "It would take care of two problems at once."

He didn't know what to think of that. She allowed him a moment to mull it over but he wasn't able to find a response, refusal or otherwise. Her eyes seemed to soften around the edges as she added, "You told me once that you fought for the men who had died in your arms. Will you fight for the ones who are dying now?"

She waited only a breath for her words to sink in before spinning on her heel and heading toward the main doors. Ulfric grasped for something to say. "I didn't give you leave."

She turned, offering him a polite smile. "I am the Dragonborn. I go anywhere I please."

The sound of the door closing echoed in the hall, surrounding Ulfric with an acute sense of aloneness. He simply stood, staring at where she had been, her words tumbling around in his head. He wasn't sure how long it lasted before the spell was broken.

"That woman," Yrsarald said, leaning against the arch of the war room, mouth full of apple, "has bigger balls than I do."

Ulfric wasn’t in the mood and shoved past him to his quarters.

\---

It was more than a month before he saw her again but he was in no mood to parry words. It was well into the night of a long day and he had already ordered everyone to leave him alone long before she arrived. 

He hadn't been notified of her return so he was surprised when she dropped a coin purse on the table next to his elbow. He managed not to look up.

"I've spoken with Suvaris Atheron."

Ulfric inhaled through his teeth, rubbing his forehead to ward off the oncoming headache. "Of course you have."

"She says you've overpaid her and her workers." With a small movement of her fingers, she gestured to the purse. "She wished to return it."

Ulfric sighed. He knew the streets of the Gray Quarter had only been partially repaved but the work had been done so well, so quickly once they started, that it had been a simple thing to increase their wages. Especially with Yule coming near and the winter harvest inside, safe from the storms.

It wasn't a conversation he wanted to have right now. He didn't want to have any conversations right now. "No, I didn't. Please return this to her and have her divide it between them."

There was a long pause, long enough that Ulfric finally turned toward her. The room was dark and she still had her hood up but he could see there was a hint of a smile hiding in the shadows. 

She placed a hand over her chest and inclined her head with heartfelt respect. "As you say, my Jarl."

Ulfric returned the nod. When he did, he caught sight of a cut on her lip and a deepening bruise on her cheekbone. He leapt up to push her hood back, revealing a black eye among other cuts on her face. "By Talos, woman! What happened to you?"

With her brows drawn together, she let him turn her head as he wished. "I was punched. Repeatedly."

"For what? Galmar said he'd sent you to Markarth on a diplomatic mission." Ulfric couldn't hide the concern in his voice.

Between his hands, she nodded. "He did. Someone thought I was being...'nosy'."

Ulfric gave her a stern look and she shrugged, stepping away from him. He let his hands drop, seating himself again as he studied her. "Have you been to see Wuunferth?"

"No, not yet. You know how grouchy he gets when he's woken so late. Or early, I suppose." She touched the cut on her lip and winced, blood shining on her fingers when she drew them away. He handed her the napkin sitting next to his untouched supper. She took it with a hungry glance at the meal.

He gestured to the food-laden tray. "I'm sure it's cold by now but, please. I hate to waste Sinfar's cooking."

Her shoulders slumped in gratefulness. She stepped around his chair, standing next to him as she cut into the meat. He wondered at her proximity, not having been near her since they were spitting venom at each other in the throne room. He was conflicted, part of him wanted to create space between them and another was warming to her presence. 

"Would you like to sit?" Ulfric asked, remembering his manners. Yrsarald's usual chair was empty but she shook her head. 

Around a mouthful of chicken breast, she mumbled, "Riding. Need to stand."

He understood the reasoning but she didn't step away, her hip brushing against his shoulder as she ate. He attempted to turn his focus to the reports in front of him but she made that nearly impossible. He continued to look at the parchment, though, if only for appearances. He didn't move his arm. 

“Tell me about Markarth.” Ulfric struggled to regain control of the conversation. “What was Raerek’s response?”

She swallowed her mouthful of food before speaking. "He gave in. There is a shipment of silver and weapons heading to Markarth within the week."

"How convenient for us." Ulfric mused, shifting a paper from one hand to the other, unread. "Well done."

She was still tearing through the food, busy stuffing as many potatoes in her mouth as would fit. He noticed she was avoiding the grilled leeks and smirked. They were his least favorite, too.

When everything but the leeks had disappeared from the plate, she sighed and picked up the small loaf of bread and broke it in half. One, she unceremoniously bit into, and the other she casually held out to him. Ulfric stared at it and then her.

"Eat." Esmere mumbled.

She was practically pushing the food in his mouth so he took it. Begrudgingly. Once he had, she dropped limply into the seat he had offered earlier, slinging her leg over the armrest. It was not a sensual display, as she was obviously weary, but Ulfric still looked away. He would _ not _ dwell on the shape of her thigh.

"Has Galmar been informed?" Ulfric distracted himself by returning to the subject at hand.

Esmere shook her head. "I came here first."

"Why?" Ulfric was worried instead of suspicious, as he should have been. "Did something happen?"

Esmere nodded. "The Empire is trying to buy the mine."

"You have proof of this?" Ulfric was sure she did or she wouldn't have the bruises to show for it.

She shifted, pulling something from beneath her leather chest piece. With a 'plop' she dropped a stack of parchment and a journal next to him before leaning back with a sigh.

Ulfric leafed through them, understanding more of the story the further he read, out of order as it was. When he set down the journal, he turned to Esmere. "So, the Forsworn attacks taking place in Markarth were all ordered by this…'N' person?"

"Nepos the Nose. And, no, he only gave out the instructions." Esmere rested her elbow on the table to support her head. "Madanach orchestrated it all."

His hands fisted, anger surging through him at the name. "That spineless…"

"I know." Esmere sighed. "You won't like the next part either."

She explained how disposing of Nepos had landed her in Cidhna Mine and of how the only means of escape had freed more than her. Ulfric seethed.

"Madanach escaped before I could stop him and the Forsworn killed most of the city guard along with Thonar Silver-Blood." She sounded angry, despite her apathetic airs.

"Damn Madanach to Oblivion." Ulfric growled in frustration. "By now he's back in hiding, his merry band of followers covering his tracks."

Esmere wiped a tired hand across her face. "I accept whatever punishment you deem fit, Ulfric."

"Punishment?" Ulfric stared. "Why?"

She gave him a confused look, barely lifting her head. "I failed you. Madanach is free because of me. Thonar Silver-Blood is dead, city guards are dead...do you need more reasons?"

Ulfric sat for a long while, considering what she'd said. It was well within his rights to punish her as he saw fit but he wasn't sure if it would fit the deed. If it had been someone else, would he? He frowned in thought. 

"Esmere, I am unable to punish you for laws broken outside of my hold. However, escaping from prison was the only true crime committed. As I see it, you were wrongly imprisoned in the first place and, therefore, your sentence would have been retracted and leaving the prison was what you would have done anyway. The fact that Madanach escaped is something I blame on Thonar. If he'd executed the worthless swine when he should have, this wouldn't be a problem." He didn't look at her, not wanting to see if she was disappointed in him for not doing his duty again as she had during their argument in the throne room. "You said yourself you killed no one. The Forsworn corruption in Markarth has been brought into the light. Jarl Igmund cannot ignore what has been happening now." 

Ulfric absently tapped his fingers on the table. "The Silver-Bloods have been taken out of play, making the city ripe for restructuring. If I'd known Thonar was  _ working _ with that worm…"

Her hand stilled his drumming fingers. Ulfric glanced at her, surprised to see that her expression only held concern. Slowly, she stated, "You didn't know. No one did. You can't solve a problem you can't see."

There was a weighted pause between her words and Ulfric's reaction. He turned his hand over beneath hers, gently squeezing her fingers, which she returned. They sat for a moment contemplating their joined hands. 

"Why are you still awake?" Esmere finally asked.

He rubbed his temple with his free hand, making no move to let hers go. "Paperwork. Correspondence. It never ends."

"You have lovely handwriting." Esmere was peering at one of the many pieces of parchment that littered the table. It was upside-down but there was no mistaking that the script was delicate and flowing.

"That's not mine." He grumbled, not appreciating her teasing.

She grinned at his distaste. "I never would have guessed that Ulfric Stormcloak was as well trained with a quill as he is with a sword."

"Of course." He scowled, shuffling one-handed through the papers as if to stack them in some order. "One wants to bleed ink even less than blood."

She laughed and it didn't escape him that their hands were still clasped. He could easily picture the hilt of a sword in her hand but it didn't seem out of place against his. He liked the look of it.

Esmere pulled him from his reverie with a tug on his hand, making an effort to rise without letting go. "Go to bed. I'll help you with this tomorrow."

"And why would you do that?" Ulfric leaned back in his chair as she came to stand beside him. "You have other tasks to attend to."

She laced their fingers together. Her eyes were as bold as her speech. "It was not an offer. I'm telling you what is to happen."

It startled laughter out of Ulfric. She smiled down at him, adding, "What information needs to go to Galmar can be sent by courier. They can deal with the shipment without me."

"You'd stay behind to help write letters?" Ulfric rubbed his thumb against hers without realizing it.

She smirked, arching a brow. "My first priority is to help my Jarl in whatever capacity he needs me."

He didn't have time to ponder that as in the next breath she had hauled him from his chair by their linked hands. Her strength impressed him.

"By the Nine, you're built like a ten-stone, aren't you?" She huffed when he was standing. "Was your father part giant?"

It was an intriguing thing to be of height with a woman. She didn't have to look far to meet his eyes and her mouth was such a small distance away…

Ulfric cleared his throat and lamely replied, "Not that I know of."

"Oh, dear. Your wit has left you." She remarked dryly. "It's definitely time for bed."

She nudged him toward the door, her hand an enjoyable weight between his shoulder blades. It drifted away too soon and he hesitated.

Esmere eyed him with suspicion, crossing her arms over her chest. "What? Do you need me to tuck you in?"

_ Yes _ . The word nearly left his lips but he managed to strangle it into a tired chuckle. He was in definite need of a good tucking. "I think I can manage."

"Then I will see you in the morning." She bent her head. "Good night, Ulfric."

He didn't want her to leave but neither could he bring himself to ask her to stay. "Good night, Esmere."

Readying himself for bed seemed to take an eternity and he prayed as he slid between the covers sleep would take him quickly. His prayers went unanswered.

Images of her haunted him when he closed his eyes and it didn't matter which way he turned, the thought of her naked and pressed against him waited behind each blink. If he lay on his back, she was atop him. When he turned onto his stomach, she was beneath him. On his side, she was curled with her back against his chest, watching him over her shoulder. There was no relief.

Ulfric wouldn’t have normally said he had a vivid imagination but tonight his mind was proving him wrong. His hands tingled with the phantom feeling of her skin, the scent of her hair and, most obscenely, the noises she would make. Knowing it was of no use to ignore, he rolled onto his back again and indulged himself in the creations of his tired mind.

He could picture it quite clearly—Esmere straddling him, arching her back, whispering his name. Ulfric hummed quietly to himself, shifting beneath the sheet. He tucked his hands under his head to stave off temptation but knew it was futile. He was already hard against his stomach, his heartbeat racing. He was no adolescent boy, lusting after some unattainable woman. He knew the scenes in his head were inappropriate and he felt Esmere deserved better than to be an object of his desires but, once his mind was allowed to run free, it did so at an alarming speed.

He discovered soon enough that he didn’t have the willpower required to avoid his base desires. Even shifting his legs to alleviate the pressure wasn’t enough. He needed more. He moved one hand from under his head, creeping in beneath the sheet and kept his movements slow. His imagination moved Esmere at his pace, matching his rhythm. It wasn't long before the second hand joined the first. He found himself panting, small noises of pleasure escaping him which didn't normally happen. Perhaps he had gone too long without.

As he peaked, the Esmere in his head arched her back and uttered the most filthy, wanton language his mind could supply. It made everything that much better. He lay in his bed, spent and relaxed, smothering his guilt with the thrumming pleasure in his blood. He drifted off to sleep without effort and slept through the night for the first time he could remember in a long while.


	6. Thane of Eastmarch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Now things are going to get interesting..._

The next morning surprised Ulfric when it arrived. Light shone in his eyes as it poured through the stained glass windows, waking him as gently as an angry bear. Despite the rude awakening, he felt rested and alert, the usual exhaustion not apparent anywhere. It was a wonderful feeling.

He dressed himself, not realizing that he was whistling as he did, and made his way downstairs. The war room was not as he remembered it, the table completely covered in stacks of parchment. Another table had been brought in and the held fruits and bread he was used to for his morning fare. The main difference, though, was the object of his previous night's revelries shuffling through a stack of correspondence. 

Esmere had her back to him, displaying her long hair and shapely legs. Her locks were damp, hanging loose down her shoulders, and she had chosen a fitted tunic and leggings with a pair of calfskin boots for the day. Ulfric felt a twinge inside him at the sight, all the images from the night before racing through his mind and aligning themselves with her current appearance. It made it difficult to stand next to her but he did so anyway.

"You've been busy while I was asleep." Ulfric looked at the papers instead of her, lest she see the emotions he was repressing in his expression. 

In turn, Esmere didn't even glance at him when she spoke. "You slept in for the first time that Jorleif can remember. I didn't want to wake you."

"It's true. It's been time out of mind since I've slept so well." Ulfric twisted his lips to stop from smiling, running his finger along the edges of the stack in front of him. "Perhaps the idea of someone to help me with all this was enough to ease my mind."

She grinned wickedly at him, as if she knew the truth. "If I'm the first to offer, I'll eat my boots."

Ulfric laughed. She was so different when they were alone. It was addictive and it made him bold. He stepped closer, turning his chest toward her shoulder to read what she held.

"Where did you get all of this? I haven't seen this much parchment since the Library of Markarth."

She hummed, moving to the page behind it, and did nothing about his proximity. If anything she may have leaned into it. "I asked Jorleif where you kept all your documents and letters. He retrieved them from your desk for me and I've spent the last few hours sorting through them."

"Last few hours?" Ulfric resisted the urge to touch her in any way. "How long have you been awake?"

Esmere placed the letter she was holding on top one of the many piles, seeming to know what she was doing. "Before dawn. Sleep is difficult at the best of times."

Silently surveying the crowded table top, Ulfric understood the sentiment. As much as he didn’t want to step away from her, he turned toward the table of food to break his fast before delving into the depths of Eastmarch's political issues.

"Sinfar said you usually have tea and honeyed bread so that's what is there." She sighed, placing another letter on a different stack than the last. He thought she sounded a little disappointed. "I asked for mead instead of tea, though. That was for me."

"I'm glad of it." Ulfric chuckled. "I appreciate your forethought."

She turned to him, curious and he added with as much sincerity as he possessed, "Thank you, Esmere."

He expected her to wave it off and turn back to her work. Instead, she bowed her head and held his gaze. "You are welcome, Ulfric."

A thrill still went through him at the sound of his name. His mind had supplied enough of her saying it the past night to associate it with his fantasies. He wondered if that would ever go away and secretly hoped it wouldn’t.

"Now." She said with great authority. Ulfric raised his eyebrows and continued chewing. "To the task at hand, my Jarl."

He ate and thought, listening to the litany of statements she laid before him. "These are correspondence about the ongoing war. These are requests from residents of the Hold, which need replied to. These seem to be personal in nature, I did not read them, to which you may want to reply."

She carried on and Ulfric could barely keep up. There were at  _ least _ twenty stacks of parchment littering the table and she had done such a large portion of the work just sorting them out.

"What is there for me to do?" Ulfric asked, swallowing the last of his bread with a mouthful of mead.

She gaped at him, incredulous. "I just told you! Were you not listening?"

He didn't respond and she groaned in frustration. With a small smile on his face, she pushed him over to his chair and made him sit. Arranging the stacks nearest him, she reiterated each for his benefit. “War, personal and Hold. Think you can remember that?”

He frowned at her, not rising to the bait and picked up the quill laying comfortably next to his hand. He deigned not to answer her.

“The war correspondence may best be destroyed. I leave that to you. There is a basket there for any documents you want to burn later.” She swept around to the other side of the table, seating herself opposite him and pulling a hefty stack toward herself.

Ulfric set down the parchment he hadn’t read yet and asked, “What will you be doing?”

“These are non-essential letters that could be responded to by anyone. Simple questions that don’t necessarily need your hand. I thought I could pen the response for your approval.”

Ulfric hummed in response, impressed by her dutiful attitude and set to work reading and writing out answers. The letters pertaining to Hold business took the least amount of time to resolve and he finished that in what felt like no time at all. He began going through the letters of war, sifting through and discarding almost all of them. Old news and courier delivered messages he’d already dealt with went first. Anything older than a month prior went next. By the time he was done with that, he made a short list of items he would need to address or verify had been addressed and he threw the rest into the basket next to his chair.

He felt accomplished, surveying the table and the sparse piles that remained. He grumbled slightly as he started on the letters she’d designated as “personal”. Reading through the first one, he realized they would be even less pleasurable than initially expected. In fact, the letters on top of the stack were allusions to marriage proposals. It took some digging to find something that didn’t. 

Finally, he found a letter from Skald the Elder, Esmere’s uncle. It was two months old and he felt guilty that he hadn’t even read it. He leaned back in his chair, sipping mead.

_ Ulfric, _

_ Fare you and yours well, Talos see to it. It has been too long since we’ve written and Dawnstar is as mundane a fishing town as you would imagine. To say I feel the teeth of tedium sinking into my bones is putting the situation lightly. _

_ I would ask after the well-being of my niece. She has yet to contact me in response to the letters I have sent and, while I know she is bustling around the Holds doing your good work, I wonder after her daily. I hope my last letter to you, filled with rumors as they were, was not shared with her. She has quite a temper when it comes to slights against her. As I shared it in confidence, I hope to Oblivion that is not the reason for her silence. _

Ulfric grimaced, thinking of what he’d told her on the fields outside Whiterun and glanced at her over the top of the paper. She was studiously scratching pen against paper, her eyes clear and a smirk in the corner of her mouth. It put on display the dimple in her cheek and Ulfric couldn’t stop the smile that came over him at the sight.

Something alerted her to his gaze and she looked up, catching him staring. He gestured with the paper. “Skald asks after you and thinks you’re upset with him.”

“He’d be right.” She tsked, scanning over what she’d written. “Neither of you should have been talking about me behind my back, truth or no.”

Ulfric leaned forward, lowering his voice to something conspiratorial. “Then you must be upset with me, as well.”

She glared, sniffing haughtily and turning back to her letter. She set it in a pile nearby and moved onto the next one.

“What are these?” Ulfric picked up the pile, returning to his normal tone. “They are...all unsigned.”

She sat back, gathering her hair over one shoulder and braiding it as she spoke. “For your approval. And, of course, you would sign them.”

“Why?” Ulfric asked. “I did not write them, made obvious by the handwriting.”

She scoffed. “And what capacity do I maintain in your Hold to execute official messages? Being the Dragonborn carries very little sway in politics, Ulfric.”

Ulfric considered that, despite how wrong she was. She had helped so many people since her arrival, random strangers at the time, as well as furthering the war effort without batting an eye. In his Hold, receiving a letter from the Dragonborn might hold more power than one from him. All he’d extended to her were paltry weapons and battle names, not titles. He tipped his head to the side, watching her carefully.

“What?” She asked, sounding more nervous than he realized she could be.

Ulfric drew his hand down his beard. “Sign them as Esmere, Thane of Eastmarch.”

She gaped. There were no other words for it. Her mouth hung open and her eyes were wide. It was a few breaths before she collected herself again. “Ulfric! I can’t accept that!”

“Yes, Esmere, you can.” He smirked, glad she was calling him by name. “Thane of Eastmarch. You have done more than enough to earn it.”

She shook her head, the braid she had been tying off coming loose in her inattention. “No, Ulfric. There are better…”

“Jorleif! Come here, please!” Ulfric called.

The stocky Nord trotted into the war room, glancing at both of them with concern. “My Jarl? Lady?”

Esmere made a noise of annoyance and Jorleif corrected himself. “Sorry...Lady Bone-Breaker.”

“Jorleif, my friend.” Ulfric said as she rolled her eyes. “What say you to Lady Bone-Breaker being appointed Thane?”

The Nord seemed to light from the inside, a smile growing on his features. “That is a wonderful idea, my Jarl! I don’t think there’s a better candidate than the Lady, here!”

Esmere bit her tongue, clearly tired of being referred to as ‘Lady’ but visibly pushing it aside to address the underlying issue. “I am not from Eastmarch, Jarl Ulfric. I have no right to the title.”

“As you said, I am Jarl and  _ I _ have the right to appoint whomever I see fit.” Ulfric smirked at her. “Jorleif, will you stand witness?”

The other man nodded. “Aye, that I will.”

“Esmere, Daughter of Dawnstar, I hereby appoint you Thane of Eastmarch.”

Her shoulders sank but there was a light in her eyes that showed her gratitude. He knew she hated titles, knew this was just another reason for people to see her as something other than herself but Ulfric wanted to give it to her none-the-less. He was bestowing on her the highest compliment he could give and he would not back down from it in the slightest. She, of everyone he had ever met, deserved the recognition.

“I accept, then, I suppose.” She muttered. She tipped her head toward Ulfric, her appreciation displayed only in the lowering of her eyes and her hand across her chest. “As you say, my Jarl.”

Ulfric grinned at Jorleif. “Draw up whatever papers are needed to make it official, my friend. She is instated as of today. Whatever other accouterments come with it, transfer their ownership to Lady Esmere.”

“There is the matter of  Hjerim, my Jarl.” Jorleif pointed out. “The deed is in the hands of the Shatter-Shields due to the nature of the previous owner’s death.”

Ulfric sank into his chair. “Aye, that is true. Call them to the hall to discuss it, if you would.”

“By your leave, aye.” Jorleif bowed. “Have you further need of me?”

Esmere sat forward. “If you could have Sinfar deliver the mid-day meal, Jorleif?”

“Of course, my Thane.”

She seemed taken back by his use of her new title so quickly and she merely nodded. Jorleif bowed again and left to fulfill his tasks, leaving the two of them in silence. 

Ulfric cleared his throat. “Do you need parchment to practice on, O, Thane of Eastmarch?”

She glared and pulled the stack of letters back to her. Without a word, she began signing them one-by-one. Ulfric turned back to finish the letter from Skald.

_ With that said, I must beg assistance of my niece yet again. There have been reports of a giant causing trouble in Tumble Arch Pass. The bounty I have placed within my Hold has not borne fruit and, as it is situated near the border of Eastmarch, I held the hope you could spare her and a few men to take care of it. _

_ Hopefully, getting her payment will be reason enough to visit her aging uncle. _

_ Talos bless you and your endeavors, Ulfric. _

_ Skald the Bored _

Ulfric laughed at the self-appointed appellation, making Esmere look at him in surprise. “Your uncle has a streak of humor I wasn’t familiar with.”

“As you say.” She smiled wryly. “He also favors inappropriate jokes in the right company.”

Ulfric recognized a wistful longing on her features and decided he could spare her and whatever men she wanted to bring with her. “He is asking for your assistance, Thane, if you will give it.”

“Oh?” She replied, surprised again. "What does he ask?”

Ulfric explained what was described in the letter and Esmere listened with furrowed brows. “That sounds like Garf. Why would  _ he  _ be stirring up trouble?”

“Garf? You know this giant?” Ulfric asked, impressed.

She nodded, still considering the information. “I’ve met him a few times, mostly for him to tell me to stay away from his mammoths. He is as peaceful as they come so it makes no sense to me that he would be hurting anyone that isn’t disturbing him.”

“You don’t want to kill it.” Ulfric stated. He could see it in her face.

She glanced at him and shook her head. “If it can be helped, no. He has done nothing wrong until now. Ulfric, if you’ll allow me to travel there, I would see a reason for his behavior before I pass judgement.”

“Of course, my Thane.”

It left his lips before he could register what words had chosen themselves. Her cheeks heated, color rising from her neck and she looked away. “Your Thane.”

“You are.” He nodded in deference.  _ Mine. _ He thought to himself. She almost smiled but straightened when Jorleif appeared before them again.

“Jarl. Thane. The Shatter-Shields are here and waiting for your audience.”

The affair didn’t take long but there was much crying and hugging on behalf of the family matron. Tova was so grateful to Esmere for all her help in finding their daughter's murderer, she pushed the deed into her hands without any payment. Ulfric felt a softening of his heart at the sight of Esmere graciously accepting it, tearful embraces and all. His mind supplied a thought unbidden.  _ She would make such a Queen. _

Ulfric reigned in his wild thoughts, shocked that he would think any such thing. Esmere was beautiful and many compliments could be given to her personality when she used her court behavior. He had doubts that his soldiers knew she could act anything other than the stoic hero but they respected her as much as they did Galmar. She was an unofficial general in his army by vote of the men and women that outfitted it. He realized then that, those two things combined, left little else to make her a better fit.

As the Shatter-Shields left, Esmere turned to him and waved the deed in quiet victory and he grinned. With this new idea mulling in his head, he didn’t notice a courier running toward them. 

“Lady Esmere, I have a letter for you!”

Her smile disappeared and her eyes became steel. She asked, even though she already seemed to know, “Who sent it?”

“A Lord Gyben of Dawnstar, my Lady.”

She snatched the letter out of his hand, grumbling. “Don’t call me that. Be off with you.”

“Allow my steward to pay you, courier. Thank you for your service.” Ulfric offered in her wake. The courier nodded, eyeing the new Thane with distaste and left them alone.

Ulfric sensed that something was wrong before it happened but couldn’t have done anything to stop it. A Thu’um had been building in her from the moment she touched the letter and he was sure she was only partially through it before it burst into flames in her hands. She let it fall to her feet with no care, turning away and storming off in the direction of the training yard, leaving Ulfric to call for water as the rug caught fire.

It was at least two hours before the mishap was dealt with, a new rug being commissioned as he searched for his wayward Thane. Ulfric wasn’t sure if he was going to yell or comfort her when he found her. He made his way to the training yard where it was very obvious her destructive actions had not ceased after burning the letter. He felt that yelling might be a bad decision.

A sparring dummy hung limply from its stand, charred beyond recognition and still smoking. There was nothing left of the dummy that had previously stood next to it, bits of cotton and splinters of wood scattered around its now broken post showing it had been Shouted apart. The third was currently being hacked to pieces by an angry Nord woman.

She landed a solid blow on its shoulder, whirling in the opposite direction as if it would retaliate. In her dominant hand, she wielded a war axe. In her other, she held a steel shortsword as if it were nothing but a twig. She sliced at the inanimate object with both weapons, two perfect arcs ending in the stuffed head being cleanly removed and settling at her feet.

“If dummies bled, the snow would be melted by now.” Ulfric said, dryly. He wasn’t happy with her outburst but he was wary of its intensity. “Would you care to tell me what brought on the destruction of my training yard? And my rug?”

She didn’t respond, her shoulders rising and falling with her irate breathing. He stepped closer, no differently than he would approach a skittish horse for fear of being kicked. In this case, he assumed she held no fury against him and hoped she had expended her animosity on the dismantled mannequins that surrounded them. She did not turn toward him.

“Esmere?” He placed a hand on each of her shoulders and stood with his chest to her back. He was glad that whomever had been in the yard when she entered had the sense to flee while they had the chance. No one would hear or see the informality. “Speak to me.”

She trembled and he couldn’t tell if it was from her temper or his touch. “A suitor.”

“What?” Ulfric asked in confusion.

Her head turned slightly toward him. “My father is demanding my presence in Solitude. He has found me a suitor.”

The news hit Ulfric like a fist to his chest. His heart almost stopped beating with the ferocity of it, tearing in him a void filled with dismay and ire. A suitor? Someone that was seeking her hand in marriage? If the thought of her being taken away from him weren’t enough, it was possible they were an Imperial sympathizer if they were in Solitude. A deep displeasure with her father began to boil within him.

He bit back on his anger, knowing she would not be helped by his negative reaction. She needed a calm in her storm, not more weather. “Esmere. You have no reason to submit to his demand.”

She spun toward him, her expression filled with outrage. “Of course I do! The laws say…”

“The laws say many things when it comes to outranking your kin.”

She stared, open-mouthed, for the second time that day. He watched as the realization that her promotion to Thane made it impossible for her father to make decisions for her brightened her face until it shone like the sun.

When she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him, he stopped thinking altogether. He definitely didn’t have enough thought left to do more than rest his hands on her hips.

It seemed longer than an instant but she pulled away. There was fear on her features where there had been pleasure a moment before. She composed herself and straightened her tunic. “If you will excuse me, my Jarl. I have a letter to write.”

The air was colder after she left.


	7. Pilgrim of High Hrothgar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Yay! Sexy times ahead! (finally)_

Ulfric was incensed that they’d waited a full hour to inform him of her return. He stormed to Hjerim, two guards hurrying to catch up. He didn’t care if he had an escort. He needed to speak to her  _ now _ .

He pounded on the door and Esmere answered with raised brows, smiling when she recognized him. “My Jarl! To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Your father.” He scowled, handing her the letter he’d gotten that morning. “Is  _ infuriating _ .”

It took her a moment to register what he’d said. After a pause, she laughed and Ulfric felt his anger slip from its heated state. She stood back, gesturing him inside with the paper in hand. He signaled to the guards to hold position and entered her home much more relaxed than when he'd arrived moments before. If the guards gave him a strange look, he didn’t see it.

She propped her feet up on the table and, based on the arrangement of the dishes, he assumed that was where they’d been prior to his interruption. She began reading the letter in earnest, one moment frowning, the next chuckling.

“Where is Caldur tonight?” Ulfric asked after her housecarl. He seated himself, sinking into the chair at the head of the table with the exhaustion he’d been ignoring. “I was surprised he didn’t answer the door.”

She pulled herself away from the words before her, a questioning hum on her lips. “Oh, he spends Loredas nights at Candlehearth.”

“As do most of my soldiers.” Ulfric grunted. 

She looked up at him again, appraising him. “Would you like to remove your coat, my Jarl?”

“Would that be appropriate?” Ulfric felt his cheeks heat. He hadn’t thought much about his choice of clothing and only now remembered he was wearing what he normally wore before bed—trousers and a thin tunic with no laces at the neck. It hadn’t mattered when he’d left, his greatcoat covering all the important parts, but now that he was faced with displaying it he was concerned.

In response, she gestured to her own garb. He had thought she was wearing a simple dress but when he looked again, it was a nightshift of thick cotton. She raised an eyebrow at him, her usual silence speaking for her. He nodded in surrender and stood, shaking the heavy fabric from his shoulders as he walked to hang it by the door. When he turned, she was staring at him.

He looked down at himself, becoming nervous. “What?”

She said nothing, slowly turning her eyes back to the page. The only other movement she made was to pull the shift higher up her leg. Perhaps he pondered that movement longer than necessary but he wasn't quite sure if it had been to entice him or not. After a moment and a steadying breath, he returned to his seat.

She had already gone back to reading so he stared quietly into the fire. Something was different about her tonight and he couldn't help but pick up on it. She was glowing from the inside, her eyes as bright as he'd ever seen them. After a few moments of thought, he pinned down what the change was. Instead of her usual stoic attitude she was... open.

It was quite difficult to tell, being that she usually held a conversation as well as a stone wall, but Ulfric had seen another side of her, one many others didn’t. When no one else was around, she was a different being altogether. He’d seen her laugh and joke, smile and roll her eyes, all the actions she usually kept under such tight control. Tonight, though, was the most emotive she had been since...

He was thinking back on her reaction in the training yard when she distracted him by snorting in amusement.

"'Release my daughter' indeed." She raised her brows at him. "Because you're holding me against my will, of course."

He blinked tiredly. “I am still left wondering if he meant for me to release your person or to release you from my services.”

“This is my father.” She said, shaking her head. “He meant both.”

Ulfric leaned his head back and watched her, a smile hiding beneath his beard. She continued to mutter to herself. "Quite sure my mother wrote this for him...using a lot of big words."

When she discovered there was another parchment beneath the first, she looked at him in surprise. Her voice dipped low, the sound of his name going straight to his core. " _ Ulfric _ ..."

He arched one eyebrow, not daring to shift in his seat and give himself away.

"You've elicited a second page!" She began reading it idly. "Such power you hold."

He grinned, closing his eyes. "I am the Jarl, after all. It is due to me."

She laughed, shifting both papers into one hand and giving him a look he couldn't decipher. "At least my message got across to him. If he's angry with you for appointing me Thane, he understands the implications."

"As I said." Ulfric tried to scowl but couldn't when she smirked at him like that. "Infuriating."

She hummed in agreement and he realized his pulse was racing. He stood to retrieve his coat, knowing it was time for him to go before things became...uncomfortable. He stood beside her, holding his hand out for the letter. "I suppose I should leave, my Thane."

Instead of handing him the pages as he expected, she slid her hand into his and rose from the chair. They were very close, their chests almost touching. Ulfric enjoyed not needing to look down at her. She bit her lip and he knew what was coming.

"I wanted to apologize for my behavior, Ulfric."

He shook his head. "Please, don't."

For a long, heated moment, they looked at one another. In the firelight, her eyes appeared black, as if the pupils had eclipsed the irises. Ulfric found he couldn't turn away.

"Am I to assume, then, that it was not unwanted?" She curled her free hand around the back of his neck.

He could have answered her with words but nothing came to mind. He kissed her, instead, the way he wished he had in the training yard. She sighed against his lips and he took advantage of it to deepen it..

He heard the parchment when it fell but only registered that her hand was sinking into his hair, tugging him closer. He turned them slightly, pressing her against the table with the weight of his body, his hands clinging to her waist. A noise escaped from the back of his throat and she slid one leg around his thigh.

"It was not unwanted, Esmere." He whispered, finally finding his voice. "Not at all."

She took control. With her fingers entwined in his hair and her leg holding him in place Ulfric could not pull away, even if he had wanted to. Her chest brushed against his and he remembered that his hands were still free, one moving up her back and the other sliding to her hip. He wondered for a brief moment if he was crushing her.

"Esmere." He paused. There was no hiding his desire from her in this position but he needed to ask. "What is it you want?"

She arched and squirmed and hooked both heels around the back of his legs, weakening his resolve but not eliminating it. He held fast, not allowing her to distract him with another kiss and she nearly whined. "I don't...I don't know! I don't want anything right now besides you."

Ulfric ran his thumb across her lip, reveling in her lust-filled eyes. "I feel the same. I would prefer somewhere else, though."

Her response was immediate, hopping off the table and dragging him behind her. His boots on the wooden stairs were thunderous to his ears.

The master bedroom was lit well but he wasn't looking at his surroundings. She spun, pulling him against her and wrenching the hem of his tunic from his trousers. She seemed torn over removing it completely or continuing to kiss him. Ulfric grinned. These were the moments he wanted to remember.

After his shirt hit the floor, she froze. There was uncertainty in her eyes that he had never seen before. "I don't know how to proceed from here."

"Is this your first?" He asked.

She shook her head and spoke to the ground. "It has been many years, though."

"Then I'll lead." He placed soft kisses along her jaw as he spoke. "Only if you promise that you will tell me what you need."

She nodded, unsure. Ulfric stepped back, toeing off his boots. "Do you understand what I am asking?"

She nodded more confidently this time.

"Do you understand why?" He returned, placing his hands on her hips.

She met his gaze with a furrowed brow. "You don't want to hurt me?"

"Yes." He held her chin delicately, reminded of the night she was introduced to him. Her eyes held the same fire and challenge as they had then. "That is the last thing I want."

She tilted her chin up. "Then lead."

He lifted her nightgown over her head, appreciating the curves of her body as they were revealed. It wasn't cold in her room but her skin broke out in gooseflesh nonetheless. He rubbed her arms, nuzzling her neck. "Sit down for me?"

"What about you?" She asked, running her fingertips over the laces of his pants. He thought she might not know what that did to him until her hand made its way back down, holding him firmly through the fabric. She knew that much, at least.

Ulfric pushed her firmly to sit on the bed, ignoring how his blood sang at her touch. "Soon. We need to take care of you first."

"No." She frowned. "I  _ need _ these off."

She pulled at the ties and he gave in. "Well played."

When his length was free, she took him in her hand and marveled. Trousers around his thighs, forgotten, Ulfric had to close his eyes against the sight. He was startled when he felt the wetness of her tongue. "Oh-ho, no. There is time for that later."

In one smooth motion, he picked her up and laid her on the bed. He finished removing the last of his clothes and joined her, stretching out beside her. She followed his every movement, intent on him as if waiting to pounce. 

"You need to relax, Esmere." Ulfric did his best to soothe her with small kisses and soft touches.

She growled, her fists clenching at her sides. "I am."

Ulfric chuckled, his mouth and hands drifting lower. How many times had he dreamed of this? He'd been right about so many things—the softness of her skin, the way she moved, the noises she made. It was almost enough to drive him mad.

She whimpered again, shifting out of impatience and he shook his head, shushing her. It was almost like taming a wild horse. Slow, steady movements until she could calm herself, even if he doubted she would.

"You need to be prepared, Esmere, and in order to do that…" He paused, running the flat of his tongue along the juncture of her hip and thigh, punctuating his words with sucking kisses. "You. Need. To. Relax."

He wasn't surprised that it had the opposite effect but it worked in his favor. She spread her legs in an effort to maneuver his mouth where she wanted it and he took that as a welcoming sign to move between them.

"I need…" She exhaled at his repositioning. "Ulfric, I need...you. Please?"

In a breath, she had her legs around his waist and he growled in warning. "Esmer. Wait."

"Can't." She writhed until they lined up, his head against her entrance. "Need."

He wanted to pull away, knew he should, but her legs were stronger than he expected. He wasn't sure what sound he made. "Please. Stop. I don't want to hurt you."

She glared at him and did what she wanted anyway. The muscles of her thighs tensed and he felt himself push into her just a bit. She hissed, gripping the pillow under her head as if to tear it in two. He reacted by pulling away, concern nearly wiping away his excitement. "Esmere?"

"Okay." She whispered. "Okay, we'll do it your way."

The answer didn't satisfy him. "If you are in pain, I don't want…"

"I want, Ulfric." Esmere pulled him down into a kiss by his beard. "I  _ need _ , Ulfric. Please."

It was enough. He slid his hand between them, slipping his finger inside her as their tongues clashed. She gasped but did not let him move away, grabbing hold of his wrist and urging him to continue. The low keening noise she made against his neck was unbearably delicious.

Ulfric added another digit, watching her expression carefully as it stretched her. Finding no discomfort there, he set to work easing her walls into acceptance, knowing it would take some effort before she could accommodate him. Her first try was enough to tell him that. The way she was clenched around him confirmed it.

She repeated his name, chanting it to match his rhythm. Ulfric could feel her release building inside her and curled his fingers to help it along. She arched off the bed, her hips rolling against his ministrations, and she looked at him with wide eyes. “What did you just do?”

“This?” He repeated the motion and she tensed.

She let out a strangled gasp, “That!”

He paused, worried for a moment she was in pain again, and did his absolute best not to move. She panted, her beautiful eyes gazing up at him in wonder.

“Do it again.” The daedra were in her grin.

He had no qualms with obliging her but, almost too late, he sensed her Thu'um swelling with the rising tide. "Esmere…"

He stopped what he was doing and she blinked up at him in hazy confusion. He brushed his nose against hers. "You cannot Shout. We'll have the guards on us in a moment."

"Mmm, yes." She wrapped an arm around his shoulders, kissing him in a stupor. "Right. No Shouting. Yes."

Ulfric huffed out a laugh against her lips. "If you'll be good, no Shouting, I'll show you something."

"Yes. No Shouting." Her hazel eyes were unfocused and he was sure she was only listening with half a mind. "Show me, Ulfric."

He loved the sound of his name on her lips. Laying on his stomach, he bowed his head between her legs, his mouth taking over what his hand had left unfinished. She exhaled, somewhere between a sigh and a cry, and she raised her hips to meet his tongue. He enjoyed this with her more than he had with any woman before. He didn't even mind her pulling his hair.

Her climax, when it came, was like a punch to the gut and she exhaled all of her breath at once. It seemed to surprise her and he was glad her Thu'um had not escaped her in her shock. He slowed down, lapping at her as she rode through the waves of ecstasy with shuddering moans. He tested her with the same fingers he'd used before, coating her inside and out with the aftermath. It wouldn't take much for him now and he decided she was ready.

Ulfric sat up, kneeling over her. "How will you have me?"

"Like this." She pulled him down, kissing him languidly. She was relaxed now, as he'd wanted her to be. Loose limbed and breathing slowly. He thought she might fall asleep. “I want to see you.”

He moved against her, rubbing himself against her folds. Both of them moaned, Ulfric's more frustrated than hers. He poised himself at her entrance and met her eyes before leaning forward. 

He slid into her almost to the hilt before she jerked in protest. Withdrawing, he did it again more carefully. When she could take all of him, he kept it slow, enjoying the clench and pull of it. He wanted to believe he was doing this for her but some part of him enjoyed this too much.

She moaned his name and it was enough. He cried out, softly, moving faster, hips stuttering and she clenched around him as he hit just the right angle. He withdrew suddenly, milking himself onto her stomach.

"Esmere…" He sighed.

She gazed up at him looking incredibly debauched. Color was in her cheeks and her hair was strewn over the pillows. "Are...you alright?"

"Far better than that, I think." He lay next to her, his heavy body on the bed making it creak in protest. He smiled tiredly. "You've worn me out."

She stood, walking to the wash basin and cleaned herself off. "I didn't even do anything."

"You did quite a bit." His eyes closed against his will. He was ready to sleep.

She joined him again, pressing her body to his and tangling their legs together. He wrapped his arms around her, enjoying the feel of her running her hand up and down his chest, tracing scars with her fingers. He felt a slight pinch and looked down at her. “Did you just bite me?”

“You had better not fall asleep, Ulfric Stormcloak.” She said with mischief in her eyes.

He chuckled. “Don’t mind me. Just a weary, old man.”

She rolled her eyes and laughed with him, returning to stroking his chest when they quieted. She brushed her fingers along his bearded cheek. "Ulfric?"

"Hmm?"

She paused and he opened his eyes. She had tucked her head down on his chest so he couldn’t see her face. Finally, she spoke. “I feel ashamed that you aren’t my first.”

“Why should you be?” He asked, tightening his embrace and placing a kiss on the top of her head. “I do not judge you for experiencing things before you met me.”

Esmere smiled softly and Ulfric touched her cheek, his thumb tracing the curve of the dimple there. Her voice was little more than a whisper. “I greatly appreciate that.”

“I think I would be more surprised if I had been.” He admitted. “Besides, I prefer a woman with experience.”

She snorted. “I don’t have that either.”

“Esmere.” He chided. “Stop second guessing yourself. I enjoyed this. More so than I have in a long time. I hope you did as well?”

She nodded slowly. “Oh, yes.”

“Good.” He couldn’t help but to smile. “That was the idea.” 

She blushed and he was sure he’d never get tired of seeing it. Shyly, she said, “I’ve been led to believe women aren’t supposed to enjoy it that much.”

Ulfric laughed, long and loud. She slapped his chest, sitting slightly to see his face better. “What is so funny? I was told only whores enjoy it...stop laughing!”

“Perhaps that is true.” Ulfric said, finally calming down. He grinned at her. “Perhaps you are just a wanton witch.”

She pinched his ribs, making him laugh and twitch away from her. He retaliated by covering her neck and chest in kisses and smoothing his hand down her side and hip. Esmere hummed, practically purring, and ran her fingers through his hair. He felt a stirring in himself from the way her body moved beneath him.

“Again?” He asked as he kissed his way down her sternum.

She sounded genuinely surprised and hopeful. “Is that an option?”

“I could manage, I believe.” He said slyly, not stopping his mouth.

They were lazy the second time, kissing and touching more than anything else. Slowly, he rolled onto his back and helped her move to straddle him. She seemed unsure about the position. “What do I do?”

“Whatever makes you happy.” He said, just drinking in the sight of her. She was beautiful for so many reasons he couldn’t count them all. From the way her hair fell over her shoulders to her kiss-bruised lips, he couldn’t stop staring.

She began to ride him, trying out different angles and sensations. He focused on her expressions, the minute flickers of emotion that told him she was reveling in it. He continued to savor each part of the experience. The curve of her hips, the sound of her sighs, the sight of her parted lips. He wanted these forever.

Soon, it wasn’t enough for either of them and Ulfric lifted his hips to help them along. Her legs shook, both from her effort and his. He closed his eyes against everything but the feel of her. He did not hurry, letting it wash over him as she reached completion. He only just had enough sense left to withdraw.

"By Talos." Ulfric sighed, feeling drained and relaxed.

She leaned forward to kiss him and he hummed in approval. Against his lips she whispered, “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You should.” Ulfric mumbled. “I’m unable to form words at the moment.”

She laughed and stood to fetch the washcloth. He grunted at the cold against his skin but appreciated the gesture, welcoming her into his arms when she returned. He held her, breathing in the scent of her hair and ignoring everything else around them.

After a long time of them laying against each other, she sighed. “I wish you could stay.”

“Do you not want me to?” He asked idly, too comfortable to be concerned.

She chuckled. "Of course I do but you have guards waiting outside."

"Aah, that." He realized what she was saying. She wasn't kicking him out, she was being prudent. "I suppose I'd forgotten about them."

Reluctantly they dressed themselves. She didn’t so much help as touch everywhere she could until his clothing finally covered him. They both sighed, longing for another chance already. He knew he felt that way. Her expression spoke of the same.

They descended the stairs and retrieved his greatcoat, Esmere helping him shrug it over his shoulders. When he turned back to her, she already had her arms around his neck and her face buried in his collar.

"Please come back to me."

She whispered it loud enough that he heard it. He tilted her mouth to his, kissing her deeply. 

"Nothing will keep me away."

She smiled, the sparkling in her eyes reminding him of the night he'd met her. They parted and she opened the door for him.

"Good night, my Jarl."

He looked back at her, ignoring the two guards snapping to attention. "Good night, my Thane."

The return to the Palace was as quiet as he might have expected if his mind hadn’t been full of thoughts of her.

\-----

"Why were you at Herjim last night?" Galmar asked with no preamble.

Ulfric looked up from his final few pages of correspondence. "Good morning to you, too."

"Answer me, Ulfric." Galmar was in no mood for niceties. "The guards are talking about how you disappeared into her house for hours! What did I tell you about bedding the Dragonborn?"

"It's none of your damn business." Ulfric growled. "We were discussing the letter from her father."

A light dawned on Galmar and he raised his head in question. "The one where he demanded you release her?"

“Yes.” Ulfric nodded and bit into his honeyed bread. “She only arrived back from Dawnstar last evening. She still needs to report on that giant business, though.”

“Why? Didn’t have time enough last night?” Galmar scowled. 

Ulfric narrowed his eyes, preparing for another long argument. In warning, he said, “Galmar…”

“No!” Galmar looked like he wanted to punch something. “You don’t seem to understand what I’m advising you against! Let me spell it out for you—as the next High King of Skyrim, you cannot afford to be entangled in a relationship! Even a secret one!”

Ulfric wiped his hands on a napkin. “I’m not having this discussion with you. Again.”

“I don’t understand why you won’t listen to me! There are plenty of women to fill your bed, why does it have to be her?” Galmar asked, his voice raising slightly.

Ulfric stood more hastily than he’d intended, knocking his chair back a slight bit. “Who I bed is  _ none of your damned business _ , Glamar! If you’re so interested in who I’m with, I’ll invite you the next time!”

“Don’t be a petulant child.” Galmar scoffed. “You need to start acting like a High King instead of a spoiled Jarl’s son. I thought you wanted what is best for Skyrim?”   
  
Ulfric did everything he could not to slam his fist on the table. “Of course I do! Why do you doubt that? Because I’ve found someone who is more than a common camp wench and now, obviously, I no longer care for the welfare of my country? Insulting.”

“Well, you’re not acting like it!” Galmar shouted.

Ulfric didn’t take that very well. “I am acting like any normal man would when the choices of his life are being made for him!”

“You’re not a normal man! You never have been!” Galmar argued back. “You’re a Jarl and the next High King of Skyrim! You can’t go around making silly decisions…”

“I’ll hear  _ no more _ of this, Galmar!” Ulfric seethed. “And you can keep your opinions of my ‘silly’ decisions damn well to yourself.”

Before more could be said, Esmere arrived dressed in her court clothes. The memory of her flooded his senses, fragments of her scent still clinging to his coat and skin. Ulfric took a deep breath, calming himself and stepped back to his seat. "Good morning, my Thane. I hope you rested well."

"I did, my Jarl." She nodded. 

Galmar glanced angrily between the two of them. Ulfric ignored him. "Are you here to report about your visit with the giant?"

"I am." She stood straighter, her face becoming more solemn. "As I originally thought, he was not the cause of the problems. The dragon living in the mountains above him was."

Galmar cursed, distracted from his anger for the moment. "Another damn dragon? That's three in this month, Ulfric! Something has to be done."

Esmere nodded. "My Jarl, I believe it is time for me to travel to High Hrothgar."

“Why in Oblivion would you need to go to Hrothgar? The dragons are here!” Galmar snapped.

Esmere frowned at his aggressiveness. “Because the Greybeards can  _ teach _ me how to  _ fight _ them.”

“And you’re only now thinking of this?” Galmar shook his head. “You could have left months ago to deal with this problem!”

Esmere scowled, angry now. “The Jagged Crown, Whiterun, Falkreath. It was not the time before. Now, I need to go.”

Ulfric suddenly found his voice. "No."

Both Galmar and Esmere raised their eyebrows. He quickly continued. "We have Markarth in our grasp. They will fall easily to us if we only bide our time…"

"There is no time, my Jarl." Esmere interrupted. She realized her mistake and stared at her feet, continuing despite the error. "The dragons must be dealt with before they become more than just a nuisance."

"I understand your reasoning, Esmere, I do, but we cannot spare you now." He needed her here, he would do anything to keep her at his side. Her trip to Dawnstar had been long enough. Weeks apart would kill him, he was sure of it.

His reasons sounded sane, at least. He turned to Galmar who was scowling. "Galmar, what say you?"

"She needs to go." Galmar rumbled. He didn't elaborate.

Ulfric was disgruntled by his answer. Both of them were against him and it upset the normal order of things. He had a feeling he knew why. "And why is that, Galmar?"

"She's right." Galmar grunted, surprising Ulfric. Galmar continued, glaring at Esmere. "The dragons need to be dealt with before they come down on us harder than they already have."

Esmere, for once, did not return his glare. "Thank you, Galmar."

"That's Stone-Fist to you," Galmar growled. "I am not your friend. I am your commanding officer!"

Ulfric stood, raising his voice. "She is your  _ Thane  _ and you will speak to her with the respect she deserves!"

"She is  _ not _ my Thane!" Galmar shouted. "She’s  _ your _ Thane! Or your whore, I can’t tell which!"

Esmere lowered her voice instead of trying to outmatch them. “Thane or whore, I still outrank you, Stone-Fist. I can also Shout you to pieces. You would do well to remember it.”

Without another word, Esmere turned to leave, brushing past Galmar without looking at either of them. Ulfric stumbled trying to get around the table in time to catch her.

“Esmere!”

She didn’t slow, skirts trailing behind her. Ulfric caught up to her several feet from the front doors, out of the hearing of the guards and grabbed her by the arm. “Esmere, please stop.”

“I will not stand there and be called a whore.” She refused to look at him, her cheeks rosy with anger. “I’ve come too far and done too much for this cause to be cast down like that.”

Ulfric wanted to hold her to him but knew she would hate it. She was a strong woman, independant and self-sufficient. She didn’t need anyone to hold her and tell her it would be okay. It didn’t stop him from wanting to, though.

Instead, he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Galmar does not approve.”

“Then why did you tell him?” She whispered, rounding on him like an angry bear. 

Ulfric threw his hands up, keeping his voice low despite the frustration behind it. “I did no such thing! He is not so easy to fool, Esmere! This was not something we could hide from him.”

“It doesn’t matter. I have to go, Ulfric.” She sighed and began pacing. “I have to speak with the Greybeards and learn what they can teach me. I’m the Dragonborn. I’ve waited too long.”

Ulfric knew she was right, knew he would have days of arguing with Galmar without her around and if she stayed it would only be worse. He knew she needed to go off and save them from dragons now but he hated to lose her. So soon after  _ having _ her she would be gone again and they would be separated by miles instead of just decorum.

He nodded to her, pulling her forehead to his lips, against which he whispered, "Please come back to me."

She whispered back, smiling sadly. “Nothing will keep me away.”

He pulled her into a brief embrace, kissed the top of her head and let her go. She turned toward the doors and disappeared. Ulfric exhaled, waited for the door to close and readied himself for the truly epic disagreement he was about to have with his general.


	8. The Blade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Running a little behind on schedule so updates may come slower. This one came out just right, though. Enjoy!_

Ulfric sat moodily on his throne, brooding over the barely polite conversation he’d just had with Brunwulf Free-Winter about more guards patrolling the Gray Quarter at night. Ulfric had known Rolff Stone-Fist, Galmar’s own brother, had been causing problems with the residents, but he hadn’t known the extent of those problems until Brunwulf had thrown it in his face.

The two of them had never been true friends or true enemies, instead dancing around niceties and civility when words were exchanged. Brunwulf had never spoken out against Ulfric’s reign as Jarl, but there were many things the man had to say about how it could be better. It wasn’t that Ulfric didn’t appreciate the man’s criticisms. He only found it unfortunate that not all of Brunwulf’s suggestions could be enacted. His most recent request was merely one of many which Ulfric couldn’t grant. 

There still weren’t enough men to patrol the area like Brunwulf wanted, the city guard already stretched so thin that crime had risen at an alarming rate. Even after Esmere had discovered the culprit behind the murders, thieving and assaults were on the rise. He’d retained the least amount of able-bodied men and women to stay in the city while the rest were needed in the continuing war effort. Ulfric could have argued that point until he was breathless, and the older Nord would still have grumbled.

Maybe, Ulfric thought to himself as he watched the servants cleaning up the hall, he needed to call back a few of his men to care more thoroughly for the city. The real problem lay in the balance of an ongoing war—keep soldiers in the field to hasten victory or bring them home to ensure there was a home to come back to. These were already things that kept him up at night along with so many other, more useless trivialities, that it was impressive he slept at all.

Jorleif broke him from his trance by nearing the throne. Ulfric smoothed the anger from his expression, raising his brows in question. Jorleif bowed. “Jarl Ulfric, the Lady Thane has arrived in the city.”

Ulfric sat straight up as the doors to the Palace of Kings opened and two figures stepped through. Their armor was of black leather covered in small, metal scales. Both wore hoods low over their faces. The taller of the two was very clearly Esmere from the way she walked. She looked more like a stalking predator than anything else.

She was not as he remembered her, though. Her body was lithe and lean, as if she hadn’t eaten properly in the two months she’d been gone. It worried him to see her so thin when he remembered her healthy and hale. Beside her appearance, she seemed different in other ways: the intensity in her eyes and the downward slope of her mouth were two things he wasn’t prepared for. It was almost like seeing a living skeleton walking toward his throne, and the idea made him unsettled.

“Dragonborn, it is good to have you back.”

She shifted her head, moving the loose hair out of her face. “Greetings, Jarl Ulfric. I have a message from the Greybeards.”

“Well…it’s about time they turned their eyes to the troubles of Skyrim,” Ulfric managed to say over the shock of her statement. She hadn’t addressed him as ‘my Jarl’ like she normally would, and she was keeping her distance from the throne. Neither of these would have disturbed him if their last interaction hadn’t been so intimate.

It was becoming obvious that this was not a woman he knew. This was some other beast altogether, some amalgamation of warrior and legend he was unable to know in any capacity. The Dragonborn in all her mystery stood before him, and he was lost in her presence.

A small tic of her lips made it seem like she smirked. “They surely are paying attention to you, Jarl. You and your army.”

“My army? There are two on this battlefield if I am remembering correctly. Why am I being singled out?” Ulfric still did not feel comfortable in this conversation and it was not just who he was speaking with. Something was coming, and he could not predict it.

The Dragonborn twisted her lips in something like a smile, but it was the man who stood behind her that answered. “You have not been, Jarl Ulfric. You have been summoned, just as General Tullius has, to negotiate a peace treaty.”

“A peace...a peace treaty?!” Ulfric was suddenly incensed, seeing now why he was being approached. “The Greybeards want me to make peace with the Empire? For what reason? Why should I give up defending my homeland from tyranny? Because the Greybeards demand it?”

The Dragonborn made a cutting motion with her hand, though he was unsure if it was directed at him or the man behind her. Ulfric settled minutely, ready to stand for his cause if necessary. Esmere wouldn’t have expected any differently but this woman left him guessing.

“Jarl Ulfric,” she began, his chest aching at the use of his title yet again. “I left you with the understanding that dragons had returned to Skyrim, though we knew not why. Now, I possess knowledge we did not have — Alduin is bringing them back from the dead to raise an army against Men and Mer.”

Whatever he had been expecting her to say was not that. She removed her hood, displaying her dark, auburn hair held back with a glowing circlet. “Alduin will not be defeated until we can further our cause, which means you need to halt your cause until The World Eater has been destroyed.”

Ulfric clenched his fists. This was no longer her cause, it seemed.

“We understand that it will be a temporary thing,” the hooded man said, as if placating him. “We do not ask you to stop your war, only postpone it.”

Ulfric snapped his attention to the man, annoyed. “Why do you speak to me as if I know you?”

“You may not remember me, Jarl.” The man pulled his hood back, revealing a mess of curls and a ragged beard. “But I remember you.”

Ulfric narrowed his eyes, trying to remember. “The thief?”

“He was better suited to other lines of work, Jarl Ulfric,” the Dragonborn supplied, repositioning her weight onto both feet as if preparing for an attack. “Once he had served his time in the Windhelm cells, he was...reappropriated.”

Ulfric scowled. He remembered the young man from the road to Windhelm, found looting the corpses of unknown travelers under the dark of night. Ulfric still didn’t believe fully that they had not been killed by his hand. Knowing he had traveled with...her made him even less friendly. “You are John Lumis, correct?”

“I am known as John the Steward, Jarl Ulfric.” The man crossed his hands behind his back, challenging Ulfric with his eyes. “I am no longer a common thief.”

Ulfric scowled more deeply. “If not, then what are you?”

“A Blade.” His grin was savage, all teeth and no warmth.

Ulfric was surprised by the answer, looking to the Dragonborn for confirmation. She nodded, adding, “Blades we are both, Jarl.”

“Blades?” Ulfric asked anyway. “There haven’t been Blades in Skyrim for…”

“A hundred years, yes,” the Steward answered with another unsettling smile. “We have remained in hiding and plan to stay that way long after Alduin has been dealt with.”

Ulfric aimed a glare his direction. “And why tell me, if not to bolster your pride?”

John the Steward was not happy with the question, his eyes narrowing sharply and his lip curling. The Dragonborn stepped between them. “That is enough, Steward. Meet me at Candlehearth. I will finish here.”

“We do not have time for personal matters, Esmere,” the Steward bit back, eyes glittering at Ulfric from beneath his dark hair.

The sound of her name from his mouth nearly forced Ulfric from his chair. He had no right to say her name, no right to tell her what to do. He was nothing, no one, some feral shadow living beyond the sight of prying eyes. His ethics and morality were questionable at best, and he was no paragon from what Ulfric personally knew. What power did he hold over her?

The Dragonborn turned her head and seethed. “Get yourself a damned woman and some mead before I strangle you with your own intestines.”

The man scoffed and stormed off, not bothering to pull his hood up. Ulfric’s eyes followed after him, not leaving him until the doors were firmly closed. Only then would he look at her, and the concern that he did not know this woman swept over him again.

“My Jarl,” Esmere began, and relief flooded through him at the sound of it. Maybe she was only doing it for the Steward, as she called him. She continued, her voice less strained. “May we speak somewhere more private?”

He stood, leading the way to the war room and nearly crushed her in an embrace once they were through the door. “Esmere, I have been so worried.”

“Ulfric.” She touched his face and beard, pressing her forehead to his. “I have missed you terribly.”

He kissed her and she returned it with vigor. When it became more heated, she pulled away. “No, I cannot get distracted, Ulfric. This is too important.”

“Tell me what is going on, Esmere. What are the Blades doing in Greybeard business?” Ulfric didn’t want to ask questions, he wanted to hold her, but forced himself to focus on the matter at hand. “Why are Tullius and I expected to negotiate? Is it really Alduin?”

She sighed but did not step out of his embrace. “Do you remember the dragon at Helgen? That was Alduin. He’s been behind this from the beginning, and now he’s powerful enough that he’s bringing back comrades from the dead. If we don’t stop him, he and his army will devour Skyrim.”

Ulfric didn’t know what to say. So many things were explained by that short description and he could immediately see why a cease-fire would be needed. It didn’t mean he was willing to trust it. “Tullius won’t negotiate.”

“He’s agreed to join us, which was more than I’d expected,” she said, running her fingers through his hair. Her eyes sparkled in a way he remembered fondly and he kissed her again. She looked at him sadly when they pulled away. “I need you to go, Ulfric. Please?”

“Are you asking a personal favor of me, Dragonborn?” Ulfric joked. Her already beautiful face broke into a grin. “You do realize that it will cost you.”

She chuckled and pressed their foreheads back together. “These past months have cost me so much, Ulfric.”

“Stay with me, Esmere. Tell me of your travels. I have missed the sound of your voice.” He placed small kisses along the scar on her jaw.

She leaned into him, enjoying his touch, and pulled his coat into her fists. “I cannot be distracted, Ulfric.”

He made his way to her neck, his lips continuing their trail. She moaned softly, her hands tightening around his greatcoat. “Ulfric…”

“Will your Steward be so upset…” He lifted her to sit on the edge of the table and pulled one of her knees up so he could press himself between her legs, “If he didn’t see you for dinner?”

She kissed him without answering and her mouth was hungry against his. He wanted her more now than he had in the whole of the last two months. He wasn’t about to let her run off when she was close enough to touch.

“He’s had a wench at every inn we’ve been to.” She growled against his lips. Her hands pulled at the laces of his breeches. “He can go one meal without me.”

It told him everything he needed to know. As he deftly freed himself and began inching her leggings down, he pictured her laying in some random inn bed pining for him. He’d done much of that himself in her time away, alone and restless. He moved her legs to one side and tested her with his fingers. “You have missed me, haven’t you?”

“Don’t tease me, Ulfric.” She was near to begging.

He slid inside her with little effort and the rest was pure ecstasy. Two months of not having her by his side, longing for her touch and her presence, wishing for her every night. It culminated in a guttural moan that shook his bones when she was full to the hilt. She covered his mouth with her own and urged him on.

No words passed between them. There was little else beyond pleasure and need. He was not gentle as he had intended, that same need driving him faster and deeper into her. She clung to him, biting her lip when she could not kiss him, closing her eyes against everything but what she felt. He watched her come undone and it was his own undoing.

She peaked before he did and it wasn’t until he was on the brink that he even thought about what he might do when he got there. “Esmere…?”

Her face was flushed and her eyes were unfocused but she must have understood what he was asking. She pushed him back, whimpering when he slid out, and dropped to her knees before him. With both hands she worked his length, gazing up at him when she put his head in her mouth.

He braced himself on the table top, using every ounce of sanity he had left not to scream in his completion. The warmth of her mouth was the most glorious feeling he could remember at the moment and he didn’t want to remember anything else. She made a noise, either in surprise or enjoyment, and he could feel the vibration of her tongue against him. He shuddered through his release.

They stayed like that for a few breaths before Ulfric moved to help her up. Esmere rested heavily against the table, her legs trembling as she adjusted her clothing. He tucked himself back in, a smile growing on his face wider and wider. She smiled back, her hair in ruins and her lips feverishly red.

“I don’t think you’ll ever think of this table the same way again.” She chuckled, refastening her scabbard. She picked up a mug of ale that had been on the table and took a drink. “Of all the negotiations you’ve ever held here…”

He trapped her against the table again. “This one has been the most enjoyable.”

“Oh! Is that what this was?” She pretended to take offence. “Are these the payments for personal favors you referred to, Ulfric Stormcloak?”

Ulfric laughed, the sides of their noses brushing when he did. He held her gaze, becoming serious. “I will go because you ask. What you give me, I keep for myself.”

Her expression changed from laughter to what seemed like pain and he wondered at it a moment. In the next breath she was kissing him gently. “You are too sweet. Thank you, Ulfric.”

“Will you really leave me now?” he asked, knowing the answer but hoping for her to stay.

She nodded. “We leave for High Hrothgar before sunrise, and I haven’t slept in days.”

“Stay with me tonight,” Ulfric pleaded. He would admit that he was desperate for her company if it meant she would let him keep it.

She narrowed her eyes playfully. “Where I wouldn’t sleep at all!”

“I would let you sleep!” he argued back. “It might take a while but I would allow it eventually.”

She laughed, kissing him again. “I will have to decline, my Jarl. The Steward would argue that you will see me at the summit. I would caution you with the same.”

“I do not like your Steward, nor do I trust him,” Ulfric stated. “He can take his arguments and shove them…”

She cut him off with a kiss that ended in her tugging on his bottom lip with her teeth. “Your little show of jealousy is adorable, my Jarl, but it is unnecessary.”

“I am not jealous,” Ulfric told her, sternly, pushing her back against the table edge. “I am...territorial.”

She laughed, shoving at him playfully. “That doesn’t make it better.”

He stepped back and shrugged, not ashamed in the least. 

She shook her head, her face beginning to fall. “Ulfric, I need to show you something.”

She reached into a pouch she had tied to her sheath, handing him a small, leather-bound booklet. It said nothing on the front, so he opened the cover to read the first page.

_ Status: Asset (uncooperative), Dormant, Emissary Level Approval _

_ Description: Jarl of Windhelm, leader of the Stormcloak rebellion, Imperial Legion veteran _

The handwriting alone was enough to set his skin on fire, but the words themselves brought a roaring to his ears and a throbbing behind his eyes. Elenwen.

The rest of the dossier was mostly uninformative, but that may have been because Ulfric wasn’t really reading. He was trying to stop looking at it while also finding out how much she now knew. His hands felt like they were being burned just from touching it and after a moment he dropped it on the table.

“Where did you get that?” Ulfric asked.

She watched him carefully. “I infiltrated a Thalmor Embassy.”

“Thalmor,” was all he said, his eyes locked on the cursed book.

She stepped closer but he didn’t move. “Ulfric, speak to me.”

“Elenwen.” He tried to look at Esmere instead but his eyes were drawn to the book like it might bite him. “I knew she had come to Skyrim, but I kept ignoring it.”

Esmere took his hands so they would stop rubbing the skin of his wrists. “Ulfric, what is this? What is she to you?”

He looked down at his hands in hers, realizing what he’d been doing. “I can still feel them sometimes. The shackles.”

Esmere said nothing so he continued. “She always used magic when she could. She liked to heat them up while they were on me, not stopping until they were red-hot. There were days she didn’t even ask me questions.”

“Elenwen tortured you?” Esmere asked as gently as someone could ask that question.

It snapped him out of his trance and he took the chance to sit down, farther away from the book. “Well, I’m sure she would have called it ‘interrogation’ not ‘torture’. More presentable that way.”

Esmere was silent but her eyes held a fury he appreciated more than he could say. He tried to laugh. “Didn’t you read it?”

She shook her head and he felt tears come to his eyes. He could barely hear her over the rush of his own embarrassment. She hadn’t read it and he’d given himself away, Gods be damned. She hadn’t known how weak he was, how weak he’d been until he’d said something. Damn him. Damn Elenwen.

“Ulfric?”

He looked up, surprised that he had missed what she had said entirely. She repeated, “I found it in their dungeons and saw your name. I didn’t read more than that. I spoke with a prisoner about what was going on there. Ulfric, did she do those things to you?”

“I wouldn’t know.” He attempted brevity and failed. “They tend to tailor the interrogation to their prisoner, so it varies from person to person.”

She stepped nearer and he stopped her. He couldn’t even hold a sad smile for very long. “Please, don’t. I don’t want your pity.”

She stayed an arm’s length away, silent as she tended to be. He said nothing and did not allow her nearer. He couldn’t take it, knowing that she thought he was broken beyond repair. He closed his eyes and, for the first time in years, wished for Oblivion to take him. He would be worthless in her eyes now, just as he felt worthless in his own. All the self-doubt and hatred he harbored for himself in the dark hours of the morning came raging to the surface, ravaging his ability to keep himself together.

“Fine. Then you can have my outrage.”

He glanced at her, confused. She rested her hip against the table next to him, slipping her fingers between his. Her touch was gentle but her voice was steel. “You can have all the anger I’m harboring for the wrongs that have been done to you in your past. You can have all the hate I carry for the person that hurt you. You can take the disgust and fear and sadness, but you will never have my pity. Is that fair?”

His cheek twitched in what could have been a smile and nodded.

She sank down, her face level with his, and said slowly, “Perhaps I could stay for a few hours.”

Ulfric was too distraught to feel relieved, but he felt something. He couldn’t speak so he tightened his grip on her hand. She tugged on him, lightly and he made his way to standing. He didn’t follow her, though, when she started walking toward the door to the upper chambers. His eyes were locked on the book.

“Should I burn it?” she asked him quietly.

It took him a very long time to shake his head. “No, I need you to hold it for me.”

“Of course, Ulfric, but…”

He shook his head more firmly when she went to hand the thing to him. “No, I can’t...I need you to keep it. Take it to High Hrothgar with you.”

She eyed him warily, slowly tucking it back into the pouch she had carried it in. He sighed when it was finally out of sight. “When you have gone, read it. You’ll know why I asked you to hold on to it for me.”

“And if I don’t understand?” she questioned, taking his hand in hers.

He looked at their linked hands, cherishing her touch and her support. He hoped he was doing the right thing. “Then you will when I get there.”

\---

Esmere held his hand as she led him up the stairs. His feet felt heavy, almost as weighted as the thoughts in his mind. She asked him no questions and made no comments. He found it mildly interesting that she knew which rooms were his. Then again, it was the only door with guards posted at it.

He waved the guards away, opening the door himself and holding it for her to follow. He didn’t care what they thought or who they would tell. Galmar was the only one that would say anything to him and the two of them were already well on their way to another argument. He closed the door firmly, shutting out those thoughts along with the sideways looks the guards gave each other.

She looked around his bedroom with curious eyes and he wondered what about it interested her. It may have been cluttered, but he knew it was clean, at least. Someone had lit a fire in the hearth already, warming the room and casting dancing shadows.

He stood at the end of his bed, lost in his thoughts again, unsure of what to do. He struggled with thoughts of the past, pushing his memories back under the surface and wrestling them under control again. He didn’t know how long he stood there, time moving without him until Esmere stood before him.

Without a word, she slid his coat from his shoulders, folding and laying it on the chest nearby. She removed his sword belt and laid it on top of his coat. With that done, she undid the laces of his tunic and slid soothing hands over his shoulders. He sighed and closed his eyes, sinking into the feeling as she began to massage his neck and back. After a few moments, she lifted the tunic over his head and laid it with his other things.

Taking his hand again, she led him to the side of the bed, pressuring him to sit. She knelt and removed his boots, setting them in front of the nearby dresser. It awed him that the Dragonborn, both a Thane and a Blade, was removing his boots for him, but he merely watched as she stood again and sat behind him on the mattress.

Ulfric groaned in pleasure when she returned to kneading his tense muscles, her warm hands soft against his skin. She knew what she was doing and worked expertly at relaxing his shoulders and back, relieving them of the stress he’d been harboring there. He hadn’t even known they ached until she touched them.

She kissed the side of his neck, running her fingers over his back. It raised goosebumps along his arms and he shivered at the contact, the sheer pleasure of it overwhelming his melancholy state.

“Where did you learn to do this?” Ulfric mumbled, tipping his head back to rest on her shoulder and allowing her more room to kiss the planes of his shoulders.

He felt her chuckle as well as heard it. “I’m only doing what I would want done to me. It seems to be working.”

“May I return the favor?” he asked, turning to look at her.

She smiled down on him softly. “I want you to relax. I will not ask anything of you.”

“I want to touch you.” He leaned forward and kissed her, his hand caressing her cheek. “I would like that.”

She eventually nodded, unbuckling her chestplate and dropping it over the edge of the bed. Her gauntlets followed and then her boots. He laughed at the lack of care she showed her own things after she’d treated his with such respect. His laughter stopped when she pulled her undershirt off over her head.

By the Nine, she was beautiful. Her skin held a more olive tone, glowing in the half-light of the fire. She turned her back to him coyly, glancing at him over her shoulder. He could see the white lines of old scars, the stories of past adventures making themselves known against the color of her skin. He caressed one at random with his fingertip, following it closely with his lips as if he could kiss away the pain she had experienced. She sighed.

Ulfric smoothed his palms over the soft skin of her back, rubbing small circles with his thumbs at the base of her neck. He worked his way across her shoulders, being careful not to press too hard. She hummed, moving her hair out of the way and revealing the fine curve there. It was too tempting not to kiss.

When he leaned forward to do so, he remembered she was bare chested and snuck his hands beneath her arms to caress her breasts. “Ulfric, what do you think you’re doing?”

“I like this, too,” he said, kissing the edge of her ear. “It helps me relax.”

She chuckled darkly. "Oh, does it now?"

"Mm." He continued to kiss and caress. “I’m very relaxed right now.”

She turned and boldly cupped him through his trousers. “Part of you is very tense.”

“Part of me, aye.” He laid back on the bed, raising his eyebrows suggestively. “Perhaps you could help with that?”

Now she laughed but indicated for him to remove his clothing anyway while she stood to remove her leathers. When she laid beside him, he was surprised he was able to ignore his obvious desires to merely hold her next to him. They hadn’t done this since their first time together, laying beside one another, a cocoon of arms and legs. He kissed her fully, wanting to wrap her up and keep her next to him.

Having her naked form pressed against his was enticing, and he couldn’t stop his body’s reaction. He felt her smile through her kisses and he returned it, tightening his embrace and rubbing his length along her inner thigh. The sound that came out of her was something between a laugh and a moan and he drank it from her lips.

In the back of his mind he knew this was the last time he would lay with her for quite some time. It made his touches sweeter, his kisses more tender, and she responded in kind. Maybe she felt the same way he did and wanted to savor each one.

They took things very slowly, only parting for minor things like breathing. Ulfric shivered as he pressed into her, enjoying the moan it drew from her and the way she squirmed against him.

“Slow down, Esmere,” he whispered. “We don’t need to rush this.”

She whimpered. “I know but I want you inside me.”

He hilted himself fully and withdrew only far enough to thrust back in, deeper than before. Esmere gasped, clinging to him with nails biting into his skin. He did it again, watching her face, and asked, “Like this?”

“Yes,” she said, suddenly out of breath. “Just like that.”

He continued, cherishing each whimper and sigh. He reached down and wrapped one of her legs around his waist. When that wasn’t enough, he shifted her onto her back before sinking his hips between her thighs again. She used the pillow to stifle the sound of her cries, but Ulfric moved it away.

“No.” He touched her cheek. “I want to see you. I want to hear you.”

She kissed him and he took her slowly, deeply. She didn’t attempt to be loud but neither did she try to remain quiet. Hearing her breathless chanting of his name brought him more satisfaction than he realized it could. He reached between them, rubbing her in just the right way to make her back arch and a heavy blush rise over her chest and face.

He’d thought he could wait, make her come for him more than once but his willpower was always weak when it came to her. His moan mixing with hers, she finished mere seconds before him. He barely managed to withdraw before he came. They stayed where they were for a few gasping breaths before he crawled to the end of the bed to retrieve his tunic to clean them and the bed. Then he laid down next to her, pulling her close and twining their legs together once more.

She kissed his nose. “I’m cold.”

He pulled the extra furs over them, not letting her get more than an inch away from him. Sighing, they relaxed in each other's arms and Ulfric was asleep in minutes.

When he woke in the morning, she was gone.


	9. Tongue of the Greybeards

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Thank you all so much for hanging in here with me! Getting down to the wire on this WIP so thank you for your patience when waiting for these chapters!!_

Galmar trudged up the last hundred steps at Ulfric’s side, their unfriendly silence echoing even before the storm made conversation impossible. Ulfric didn’t mind in the least. The storm only gave them a reason not to feel uncomfortable about purposefully not speaking.

They’d argued after Ulfric had informed him of his decision, Galmar adamant that there was no reason to go when Tullius would never reach an agreement. If that hadn’t been enough, Galmar also stated not-so-subtly how unhappy he was with where Esmere had spent the night, and Ulfric had threatened to send him to Falkreath just to be rid of his nagging. Instead, they climbed the seven thousand steps together.

Ulfric was glad to know that he was still a loyal housecarl despite their current animosity.

Wind and ice bit at their faces, as it had almost their entire journey from Ivarstead. The long progression of men that had trailed them here had been left to camp outside the small village, far away from the Imperial camp that had obviously followed Tullius. Klimmek, a frequent traveler up the steps, had stopped them at the base of the mountain with a notice that no troops would be boarded in the temple, which left Ulfric and Galmar to make the trip alone.

The doors to High Hrothgar swung open heavily, their whining able to be felt but not heard over the storm outside. When they were shut and he was able to see again, Ulfric was presented with a very unpleasant sight.

“Jarl Ulfric. I’m pleased you made it,” John the Steward greeted, not pleased in the slightest. “ And you’ve brought your...friend. Galmar Snow-Bear?”

“It’s Stone-Fist, you milk drinker,” Galmar growled, melting snow dripping from the fangs of his bear pelt.

Ulfric watched the Steward’s eyes flick up to the bear and back again. “My apologies. I don’t know how I got them confused.”

“Where is the Dragonborn, Steward?” Ulfric asked, in no mood for games. Even games that toyed with his second least favorite person here.

The Steward glared at Ulfric. “Meditating in the courtyard. As she has been since before dawn.”

“In this storm?” Galmar croaked, a chunk of snow sliding off the muzzle of his bear and plopping noisily at their feet. Ulfric bit the inside of his cheek.

The Steward wasn’t amused and he shook the drops of snow from his boot with a sour expression. “I don’t know if you’ve ever met her but she’s prone to do as she damn well pleases. She is the Dragonborn, after all.”

Ulfric was reminded of the argument he’d had with her in the throne room, telling her the exact opposite. Now, she was meditating outside in the middle of a snow storm. He shook his head.

“Follow me...please,” the Steward grumbled, hesitating on the last word as if it pained him and walked off toward the dining hall. From what Ulfric remembered of his time here, the room wasn’t grand, but it was big enough for their gathering. 

Ulfric glanced around, looking at the architecture with new eyes. It had been decades since he’d been here and nothing had changed. The stark stone walls remained as unmoving and timeless as ever, the halls and ceilings still clouded with incense that drifted into every corner. He remembered the smells— smoke and damp, fresh mountain wind and thousand-year-old moisture. He stepped over a stone that he somehow remembered was uneven without thinking, only for Galmar to trip on it behind him.

“I’m curious, Jarl Ulfric,” the Steward said as he stopped in front of the door to the dining hall, holding out his hand to point them inside. With his feral grin, he asked, “Does it look the same as you remember?”

Ulfric didn’t answer as he passed. Galmar may have ‘accidentally’ run his shoulder into the smaller man.

Three people were already seated when Ulfric and Galmar entered, and Master Arngeir stood by the window, observing them. General Tullius was identifiable by the back of his bald head, and Legate Rikke sat ramrod straight by his side. The other woman seated there had Ulfric’s heart in his throat on sight.

“No.” Ulfric pointed at her. “You will get out.”

First Emissary Elenwen raised one perfectly golden eyebrow at his pointed finger, opening her mouth to say something snide when Tullius interrupted. “She’s part of my delegation, Ulfric. She’s here by my leave.”

“Then by your leave she can get out,” Ulfric replied with increasing volume, wresting down the panic that seeing her brought on. Having Galmar next to him was the only thing stopping him from rubbing his scarred wrists. “She has nothing to do with these negotiations. The Thalmor aren’t a participating faction.”

“I am simply here to supervise the proceedings,” Elenwen stated smoothly, as if the sound of her voice were a balm to his unsettled senses rather than a catalyst.

Galmar finally interjected, his voice booming. “I don’t care if you’re here to fuck a donkey, you yellow-skinned bitch. You leave, or we will.”

That caused an uproar which only stopped when Arngeir Shouted and the whole room shook. Ulfric had to steady himself against the table, and Rikke nearly fell. 

Arngeir spoke softly in the quiet afterward. “This is no way to start anything. You will cease this quarrelling or I will be forced to expel you.”

“Master Arngeir, what…?” Esmere ran into the room, the Steward right behind her.

She took stock of the situation quickly, her eyes flying from Arngeir to Ulfric, to Tullius and Rikke and finally to Elenwen. She seemed more disgusted than surprised. “What are you doing here?”

“You? I should have known. I knew you were trouble the moment I laid eyes on you,” Elenwen seethed. “You’re the reason my Embassy is in ruins! I have every right to arrest you!”

Esmere ignored her, turning to Tullius. “Why is she here? The Thalmor are not part of the Empire, or so you say.”

“She is here in an observatory role only,” Tullius replied, letting her jab slide. “She is not to take part in any of the actual negotiations unless they go against the White-Gold Concordat.”

Esmere glared at him. “Are you planning on suggesting something that would require her to intervene?”

“No, but…” Tullius glanced at Ulfric.

Galmar laughed and Ulfric sneered. “You insult me. Just by bringing her here you insult everything this peace treaty stands for!”

“You don’t get to tell me who I have in my delegation, Ulfric!” Tullius challenged.

Esmere looked at Elenwen. “You were not invited.”

“That didn’t stop you,” Elenwen snapped.

Ulfric sensed her Thu’um flicker to life with surprising speed. Her voice became infused with it, bolstering her meaning. “You will leave or I will make you leave.”

The sound of swords being drawn followed her words, and Arngeir hobbled towards the Blades standing behind Esmere. “No! This is a temple! No weapons will be drawn here!”

“Fine.” Elenwen rose, sneering at Esmere as if she were mud on her boots. “I’ll leave.”

As she left, she brushed past Ulfric, too close for comfort. “Enjoy your petty victory, Ulfric.”

He swallowed and froze. He didn’t know how long it took for her to leave the room but he didn’t move until he was sure she was gone.

“Ulfric?”

He came back to himself, memories of lightning and fire dissipating at the sound of Esmere’s voice. There was half a breath where they almost smiled at one another before Galmar butted his way in. “You will address him as Jarl Ulfric, Lady Dragonborn.”

“I will damn well say what I mean, Stone-Fist!” she snarled, and Ulfric felt the need to put a hand on her shoulder. “I don’t need chiding, I already have a mother!”

“STOP!”

The mountain rumbled again. Arngeir glared at each of them in turn. “This will stop now.”

Once everyone was silent, Arngeir nodded and commanded, “Everyone. Take your seats.”

They filed around the table until everyone was seated according to their delegation. Tullius and Rikke sat across from Ulfric and Galmar. The two Blades, Delphine and the Steward, sat across from Arngeir and Esmere. They all looked at each other with barely concealed suspicion. 

“Are we ready to begin these proceedings?” Arngeir asked.

“I just want to make one thing very clear…” Tullius began and Ulfric could not hold back a groan.

Galmar leaned toward Ulfric and said loudly enough that all could hear, “Here we go. This will be good.”

“The only reason I agreed to attend this council was to deal with the dragon menace,” Tullius stated firmly. “Nothing more. I have no authority to negotiate a permanent settlement. Unless Ulfric is ready to sue for peace and turn himself over to Imperial justice?”

Ulfric resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Enough posturing, Tullius. If you came to talk, let’s get this over with.”

Tullius scowled, the only expression Ulfric had ever seen on the man’s face, but said nothing in return. Arngeir took that as a sign that they were all prepared and drew himself up.

“General Tullius, Jarl Ulfric. This council is unprecedented. All I ask is that you respect the spirit of High Hrothgar and do your best to begin the process of achieving a lasting peace in Skyrim.” Arngeir paused to look at the heads of the delegations. “Who would like to open the negotiations?”

“Our terms are simple.” Tullius put his hands on the table, not waiting to see if Ulfric would speak. “Riften must be returned to Imperial control. That's our price for agreeing to a truce.”

Galmar interjected, “By Talos, the stones on this one! You're in no position to dictate terms to us, Tullius!”

“That's quite an opening demand, Tullius,” Ulfric drawled, sitting back in his chair the same way he would his throne.

Galmar wasn’t about to be ignored. “Ulfric! You can't be taking this seriously? We can hold Riften against anything the Empire can throw at it!”

“We will do whatever I decide is in the best interests of Skyrim,” Ulfric muttered in warning. “Are we clear?”

Galmar grumbled under his breath and Ulfric knew he was stoking the fires of resentment, even now. He sighed and turned back to the matter at hand.

“Come on, Tullius, you can't honestly expect us to just hand over Riften.” Ulfric laughed, turning to those around the table, letting them in on the joke. “You haven't been able to take it back yet. Why should we give it up now?”

Esmere looked like she had her tongue in her cheek, shaking her head at his behavior. At least he knew she was listening at all. She had yet to look his way.

Arngeir frowned, unimpressed. ”I'm sure General Tullius does not expect something for nothing. Jarl Ulfric, what would you want in return?”

Tullius crossed his arms, preparing himself to be annoyed by Ulfric’s answer. Ulfric decided to surprise him. “I expect nothing.”

That seemed to do the trick. Tullius’ brow shot up to his non-existent hairline and Rikke’s mouth hung open. Before they could speak, Ulfric clarified. “Over the years, I’ve learned to expect nothing from the Empire, lest I have my good faith thrown back in my face.”

Tullius’ expression turned murderous and Ulfric felt a small amount of pride in being able to make that happen. He sat forward, resting his elbows on the table as if he was having a comfortable conversation with friends. “However, good faith was expected when I accepted the Dragonborn’s invitation to this council. I, as a true son of Skyrim, will at least negotiate with that in mind.”

“Name your terms, Ulfric. I don’t have time to listen to your insults on the Empire,” Tullius demanded.

Ulfric considered, glancing over at Esmere in thought. Her eyes met his and he watched red creep up her neck into her cheeks when she looked away. He scratched at his beard to cover the smile beginning to form. So that’s why she was ignoring him. The thought made him bold. “How about the Reach?”

“The Reach?” Rikke squawked. “If you think we’d give Markarth up to you, you’re more deluded than I thought, Ulfric!”

Tullius turned to her. “That’s enough, Legate. We represent the Emperor here.”

“Sorry, sir,” she muttered without lowering her head an inch. “It won’t happen again.”

Galmar slammed his hand on the table, making Arngeir jump slightly. “Well, Tullius? You heard what he said. We’ve made a fair offer. If you’re really serious about this truce, you need to consider it.”

“This is not a negotiation at all.” Tullius looked from Arngeir to Ulfric. “You know I can't agree to these terms. The emperor would repudiate this treaty and I would be recalled.”

Arngeir asked, “Perhaps there is something more to be bargained for?”

“Perhaps.” Tullius crossed his arms again. “I have a counter-offer.”

Galmar threw his hand in the air. “Shor’s bones, where will these demands end?”

“Let’s hear it,” Ulfric sighed, leaning back in his chair again.

Tullius seemed to take cruel pleasure in what he said. “We want compensation for the massacre at Karthwasten.”

Galmar stood from his seat and began yelling obscenities at them that Ulfric was sure he’d never heard before. “You bull-fucking coward with shit covered chicken legs! How dare you say we owe YOU for Karthwasten!”

Ulfric knew Tullius had chosen that specific subject to ignite their anger. There was still too much conjecture behind the conflict at Karthwasten for the Empire to be blaming him but, then again, that’s exactly what the Empire did. He wasn’t surprised but he was livid.

Rikke stood as well, overriding Galmar’s vehement disagreements. “You slaughtered the very people you claim to be fighting for! True sons of Skyrim would never do such things!”

“Damned Imperial lies!” Galmar spit back. “My men would never stoop to such methods, even in retaliation for your butchery at…”

“STOP!” someone yelled. This time, the mountain stayed quiet.

Ulfric turned to see who was screaming for attention now and was rather underwhelmed to find John the Steward standing in front of his own chair. The younger man looked furious. “Are you so blind to our danger that you can't see past your petty disagreements? Here you sit arguing about...about nothing! While the fate of the land hangs in the balance!”

Galmar turned toward the Steward, looking for all the world as if he might jump over the tables and beat him soundly. “You watch your mouth, milk-drinker! Come back and insult me when you’ve finally let go of your mother’s teat!”

“I would advise you to sit down and mind your tongue,” Ulfric said, looking pointedly at the Steward and holding back Galmar with a hand on the other man’s chest.

This time, it was Esmere who stood. “And I would advise you to listen to what we have to say before you do anything rash.”

Silence descended upon the room and everyone but Esmere took their seat. It amazed Ulfric, watching a cowed Galmar seating himself, that one woman was enough to quell the anger of two armies and a defunct yet vicious order with a few quiet words. He turned in his chair to face her, wanting to show he was listening, but his mind was wrapped around one thought. By Talos, she was beautiful.

She leaned forward on both hands, looking first at Tullius and then Ulfric. He was captivated in that moment by her eyes, waiting in anticipation of what she was about to say. She was powerful and impressive and Ulfric was in awe of her. He doubted even he could hold attention this well.

“I agree with my Steward. I don't think you understand the danger we are all in. Have we not impressed upon you what the return of the dragons means? Alduin. Has. Returned. The World-Eater. Even now, he devours the souls of our fallen comrades in Sovngarde! He grows more powerful with every soldier slain in this war, Stormcloak and Legion alike. Can you not put aside your hatred for even one moment in the face of this mortal danger?”

Ulfric let her words wash over him and felt the shame that came with discovering he was wrong sink in. She continued, looking at each one of them. “The safety of more than just Skyrim is at stake here. We are talking about the whole of Tamriel being overrun with dragons. Beasts that do little more than wreak havoc and destruction. And you wish to plague our lands with what General Tullius aptly called the ‘dragon menace’ just so you can continue your pissing contest?”

“This was your cause once, Dragonborn,” Galmar warned through his teeth. “Don’t act like you didn’t choose a side.”

She stood up straight. “And I will not say I chose poorly.”

Ulfric swelled with pride as Tullius glowered. She continued, her eyes focused on Galmar. “It is only that there is a larger matter at hand that needs to be dealt with and, if either of you are as truly concerned with the welfare of Skyrim and her people as you let on, this should be your priority. Leaders should lead, not squabble like children over toys.”

Her words hit him like a bucket of cold water. Leaders should lead. All his other emotions drained away, his pride lay dormant and he knew what he must do.

“Wait.”

Ulfric was surprised at the sound of his own voice as he had not intended to speak. All eyes turned to him but he only saw Tullius.

“Esmere,” Ulfric said lowly, ignoring all formality. “Do you remember that book I asked you to carry?”

She nodded. “I do.”

“Would you give it to General Tullius for me?” Ulfric said, nervous underneath all his calm. He leaned back in his chair, watching the interaction. 

Tullius took the leather-bound book, giving Ulfric the most confused expression. “What game is this, Ulfric? Why do you have Thalmor documents?”

“Because they are about me.”

Tullius looked at it in new interest. He poured through the pages, his eyes hungry for the words and when he finished, they held some appreciation. 

“She made you believe you were the reason the White City fell?” Tullius seemed quietly crestfallen, as if he couldn’t believe the woman in question could stoop so low.

Ulfric nodded and Rikke piped in. “Who?”

“Emissary Elenwen,” Tullius said, handing her the book.

She looked at Ulfric, gesturing with it. “May I?”

He nodded again, finger against his lip to stop himself from shaking. Rikke read through it, and Ulfric knew what she was seeing. In Elenwen’s delicate hand, the reason behind him sharing his past. 

“Rikke, would you read the last page out loud?” Ulfric asked after she had read for a moment and Rikke cleared her throat. 

“As long as the civil war proceeds in its current indecisive fashion, we should remain hands-off. The incident at Helgen is an example where an exception had to be made—obviously Ulfric's death would have dramatically increased the chance of an Imperial victory and thus harmed our overall position in Skyrim.” She paused here, looking between Ulfric and Tullius in disbelief. Tullius nodded and she went on, ”Note, the coincidental intervention of the dragon at Helgen is still under scrutiny. The obvious conclusion is that whoever is behind the dragons also has an interest in the continuation of the war, but we should not assume therefore that their goals align with our own.”

Tullius scratched his chin. “At least we know the Thalmor had nothing to do with it. That gives me some sense of relief.”

“There is more.” Ulfric motioned to Rikke to continue. “It is important as well.”

“A Stormcloak victory is also to be avoided, however, so even indirect aid to the Stormcloaks must be carefully managed.” Rikke closed the book when she finished, dropping the book on the table and sighing heavily. “Those two-faced bastards.”

Esmere asked, “Ulfric. Where are you going with this?”

“I was wondering the same thing,” Galmar said, not mentioning the lack of title.

Ulfric addressed Tullius. “I wanted you to see the deception we are both under. While the Thalmor is allied with the Empire, they are also ensuring the Empire’s demise. They do not want you to win, they want you in need. This war will eat away at the Empire until there is nothing left, and then the Thalmor can step in to sweep them aside.”

Tullius and Rikke looked at one another. Tullius tapped the table thinking. “They don’t seem worried about the Stormcloak rebellion stopping them from victory. What have you to say about that?”

“Their opinion of us doesn’t bother me in the least. We will fight the Thalmor with all we have,” Ulfric replied with certainty. “They may win Skyrim but they will never win the Nords.”

“Even so,” Tullius said, “if you’re suggesting what I think you are, Ulfric, this is very nearly treason.”

Ulfric leaned forward in earnest. “Do you think your Emperor would even consider the information?”

“You will, in essence, be giving him inflammatory information with little to no evidence to back it up,” Tullius replied.

Ulfric sighed, standing easily to remove his greatcoat. He laid it over the back of his chair, turning up the cuffs of his sleeves. “You need proof?”

Esmere almost rose from her seat. “Ulfric…?”

He stopped her with the motion of his hand, continuing by rolling up his other sleeve. He then held out his forearms. At least two inches of each wrist, all the way around, was one, large scar. The pale skin would not react to the sun and stood starkly out against his tanned arms. Rikke gasped.

“Ulfric,” Tullius said, meeting his eye. “You have my apologies for my doubt.”

“These are my testament, Tullius. And these.” He pulled his fingers across his cheek, parallel with the scars that resided there. No one spoke and Ulfric put his sleeves to rights as quickly as he could. “You as my witnesses have heard me accuse Elenwen of torture under Thalmor order. This dossier and my own scars are my proof.”

Tullius shifted uncomfortably. “I understand the facts in front of me, Ulfric, but I don’t know what you’re proposing. What exactly do you expect me to do?”

“I should think that was obvious.” Ulfric seated himself after pulling his coat back on. “The enemy of my enemy is my friend, or so it is said. I want the Empire to fight with us against the Thalmor, the true enemy.”

There was a moment where Tullius thought about that. “So, we would agree to a truce in this war to begin another war?”

“Perhaps things will go that way.” Ulfric shrugged, feeling more settled. “Perhaps your Emperor will call me a liar and keep my head on a list for the axeman’s block. What you and I as leaders of Skyrim need to do is try. We need to put a hold on this war to deal with the dragons, that much is true, but I would also like to take this opportunity to see what your Emperor will do knowing that his ally is actually a wolf in disguise.”

Tullius shook his head. “I’ll say it again, this is almost treason. Ulfric, I can’t just walk up to the Emperor and tell him the Thalmor are plotting against him.”

“And why not?” Ulfric asked.

Tullius replied, “Because we have no proof! Yes, the Thalmor have been torturing their prisoners, that much is clear. Yes, they are waiting for the Empire to weaken but, beyond what is said here, they are merely biding their time until this war is decided one way or another. What is there to say he doesn’t already know this? How will that change the fate of Skyrim?”

“Do not misunderstand me, Tullius,” Ulfric intoned. “I want the Empire out of Skyrim as much as I ever have. I want nothing more than a country free to rule herself without the Empire’s meddling. What I am offering you is the time for this truce to hold until your Emperor is presented this information and makes a decision.”

Tullius narrowed his eyes. “And if he decides not to believe you?”

“Then the Empire will leave Skyrim, whether he likes it or not.” Ulfric frowned. He had been hoping more would come of this revelation than words. He wasn’t sure now what he had expected Tullius to do but this was obviously as much as the man was willing or was able to achieve. “So? What say you?”

Tullius tapped his fingers on the table, considering all his options. Ulfric knew they were getting a good deal out of this negotiation, more than Ulfric was willing to give in all honesty, but there were now two reasons for them to hold onto this temporary peace.

“Give me a month, Ulfric,” Tullis said finally. “I’ll do what I can to communicate with the Emperor and get a response. Until then, let’s settle these proceedings and get on with our lives.”

Ulfric gave himself a moment to revel in his accomplishment. Two steps forward were better than two steps back and he would take what he could in these times. He began to feel a warm hope that this war might end peacefully.

“To clarify, for all present,” Arngeir stated with purpose, “the terms agreed upon in these negotiations are as follows: Riften will be handed over to Imperial control. The Empire will withdraw its troops from the Reach allowing Ulfric's forces unhindered access to Markarth. You both agree to this?

“We will also pay appropriate compensation for Karthwasten,” Ulfric interjected. When Tullius’ eyebrows shot up, he added, “Good faith.”

Arngeir cleared his throat and continued. “As well as compensation being paid to the Empire for the massacre at Karthwasten. If anyone objects to these terms, please speak now.”

When no one moved, Arngeir asked, “Then can we all agree to the terms set before us?”

“I do.” Ulfric nodded his assent, standing. 

Tullius and Rikke followed suit, Tullius saying, “I agree to these terms.”

“Very well, then,” Arngeir said with some surprise. “I believe that concludes these proceedings.”

They all began to shuffle out, not much left to be said between them. Ulfric stepped into the main entry hall, catching sight of the top of Esmere’s head as she spoke to Tullius and Rikke. She and the General grasped forearms, parting like respected acquaintances, if not friends. Esmere pulled both doors open, took two steps into the churning snow and Shouted at the sky. Suddenly, the storm stopped and the storm ceased.

“Couldn’t have done that four hours ago?” Galmar grumbled at his side, and Ulfric turned to look at his friend, startled to have the older man say anything at all.

Ulfric repaid him with a stoic reply, watching Esmere disappear into the depths of the temple out of the corner of his eye. “What would we have blamed our silence on, then?”

“I blame you,” Galmar said grimly. “Just like I do for everything else.”

Ulfric shook his head, unable to retort when Arngeir approached. Ulfric reached out his hand. “Master Arngeir. It is good to see you.”

“You as well, young man.” The elderly man graced him with a smile, grasping his forearm in return. “I’d thought to never see you in these halls again. It was perhaps too much to hope that you would stay but I knew your heart was not on this mountain.”

Ulfric hung his head. “I know our last words were...heated. I wish, now, to apologize for the fire of my youth.”

“It was long ago that I was young,” Arngeir sighed. “But not so long that I do not remember. Peace is what we teach here, Ulfric. Peace and forgiveness. It would go against everything I practice not to forgive you. While I did my best to dissuade you at the time, I cannot blame you for taking the action you thought best. If you had not, you would not be standing before me as the man you are today.”

Ulfric’s chest filled with emotions but he only said, “Thank you, Master.”

At that moment, the blonde Blade stormed out of the dining hall, enraged. “How dare you dishonor your oath to protect a traitor!”

“I’ve made up my mind, Delphine,” Esmere stated calmly, taking a stance at the top of the stairs. “After everything he’s done, I’m not going to turn my back on him now.”

Delphine seethed. “So you’d rather turn your back on us instead? Your sworn brethren? Is that all that sways your favor - which of us has done more for you? What does that say about your loyalties? There is no grey area in this, Esmere. You’re either with us or against us.”

“You asked and I said ‘no’.” Esmere crossed her arms and Ulfric could tell that she would not change her answer, no matter what the woman said. “If you want it done you’ll have to do it yourself.”

Delphine seemed then to understand she would not win and it only deepened her anger. “Fine! You’ve made your choice. You are no longer welcome in Sky Haven. All your privileges have been revoked. Stay here in your crumbling temple filled with senile old men and talk to the sky for the rest of your days! You are of no concern to me anymore!”

The woman stormed away and no one moved until the doors closed noisily behind her. Ulfric watched with narrowed eyes as John the Steward appeared from the shadows and walked slowly down the stairs. The dark-haired man turned back to Esmere, questioning her with his eyes. Neither of them spoke.

After an uncomfortably long moment, Esmere tipped her chin toward the door, and the Steward lowered his head. He nodded solemnly and walked away, not even acknowledging them as he passed. Esmere sighed and ran her hand through her hair.

“Good riddance,” Arngeir said.

Ulfric watched Esmere as she drew near. “I’m not sure I followed much.”

“It’s better that way.” Arngeir patted Ulfric’s shoulder. “You were not meant to know.”

Ulfric paid little heed to his Master’s words, his thoughts filled with the woman that stood before him now. All the moments where she had proved herself impressive and capable culminated in his impression of her now. She seemed to glow with an inner beauty that had previously been shadowed by her quiet demeanor. Now that he had seen it, though, he would never be able to see her differently.

“Master Arngeir,” Esmere said with a small bow. “We need to discuss our next steps.”

Arngeir nodded. “Quite so, Dragonborn. I will leave you now and meet with you when you are ready.”

Galmar, Esmere and Ulfric bowed to the elderly man as he departed. When he was gone, Galmar scratched his chin and sighed, “I suppose I’ll wait outside for you. If the weather holds up.”

With a glare in Esmere’s direction, Galmar left the two of them alone for the first time in what felt like an eternity. They stared at one another for a long time, saying nothing and merely appreciating the presence of the other.

“So, the war is just a pissing contest, eh?” Ulfric grasped for something to say to break the tension, remembering the revelation from the negotiations.

She smirked. “You can’t say I’m wrong when the two of you act like that every time you’re near each other.”

“I suppose,” Ulfric conceded without agreeing. He took her hand in his, reminding himself of the softness of her skin. “And your Steward? What will become of him?”

She arched an eyebrow at him. “John will carry on just as he always has, with or without me.”

“Of course.” Ulfric nodded, doing his best to memorize the feeling of her fingers between his. He struggled for something other than the question that burned within him. When he could find nothing else, he sighed with discomfort. “When will I see you again, Esmere?”

Her expression faded into worry. “I don’t know, Ulfric. There is so much uncertainty with the journey ahead, I can’t even say I will get the chance to face Alduin at all.”

“You will. You are the Dragonborn.” He gave her what little reassurance he could give. She smiled wanly and Ulfric added, “Besides, I don’t believe that the gods are so cruel as to take you away from me now.”

“I thought you didn’t believe in fate,” she teased.

He gave her a serious look. “I don’t. I believe in you.”

Ulfric couldn’t read her expression so he waited, wondering with trepidation what was on her mind. She remained silent, her mouth opening to speak several times but no words escaped.

Suddenly, she kissed him.

“Hold onto that for me?” she whispered against his lips. “I’ll need it when I get back.”

He nodded unable to speak around the feelings in his throat and he kissed her again. There was a good chance she would die in this endeavor and, no matter what words of confidence he spoke, her mortality hung very real over their heads. He would pray and he would dare to hope but there were no guarantees beyond the glimmer in his heart that said she would return.

They parted, their hands the last thing to separate. Ulfric felt an ache in his chest that he refused to focus on. “Come back to me, won’t you?”

“Nothing could keep me away.” She smiled sadly, touching his cheek.

He left before the ache became too much. Galmar was waiting on the first landing for him and he signaled to his friend that he was ready to leave. Galmar asked, “Said your goodbyes?”

Ulfric grunted, not wanting to talk about it. He couldn’t bear to think that this might have been the last time he spoke to her. 

Galmar chuckled and Ulfric turned to look at him. “What?”

“You know she won’t die, right?” Galmar raised his eyebrows. “She’s too damn stubborn to lose.”

The thought made Ulfric relieved for no justifiable reason at all. He pictured Esmere squaring off against Tsun himself and demanding her return to the land of the living. At least so she could haunt Galmar out of spite. He began to smile.

Maybe hoping wasn’t such a folly after all.


	10. Alduin's Bane

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Well, hello there! Trying to keep up on posting these but I'm not doing as well as planned. Let me know what you think of the chapter in the comments, I love reading your comments! Thank you to everyone who gave Kudos and comments and hits. You are what makes my world go around!!_

“I just want to make sure I understand,” Ysarald said for the third time. “We’re working with the Empire now?”

Ulfric sighed, putting his hand over his eyes. He was developing a headache from the circular conversation. “As I said, it was an offer made. There are no guarantees that it will bear any fruit, Ysarald.”

“But...you want to work with them?” The man tilted his head, still confused. “We’ve been trying to get them out of Skyrim for years and now we’re extending them…”

Ulfric put his fist down on the table. “We are under a peace treaty, Ysarald! If we aren’t willing to work with them in this, then there is no point in attempting peace! I would be a fool to sit back and let the opportunity to stop this civil war pass us by because we cannot see past prejudice. We have one common enemy, and that is the Thalmor. We can use that to leverage the Empire out of Skyrim.”

Ysarald finally nodded in false understanding and Galmar picked up where he’d left off. “But, if we work with them, isn’t that going against everything we’ve been fighting for?”

“I don’t understand what is so complicated about this arrangement,” Ulfric growled, nearing the end of his patience. He took a breath and simplified his explanation. “The Empire will leave if we work together to fight the Thalmor.”

Galmar argued, “There’s no guarantee that they’ll leave, Ulfric. They might just stay because we’re being nice to them.”

“That is not the peace I am pursuing.” Ulfric sighed. “Besides, we have yet to even see if they are willing to listen, let alone come to terms with us. We need to wait and see where this goes.”

Both Galmar and Ysarald remained skeptical, exchanging an expression of doubt in full view of Ulfric. It didn’t make him feel any more confident. He rubbed his forehead, frustrated that he couldn’t make them see what he was trying to accomplish with his decision.

“Is it true that the Dragonborn is fighting Alduin?” Ysarald suddenly asked. 

Worry crept its way back into Ulfric’s chest, even while he remained relaxed. They hadn’t heard anything since returning from the mountain a few days prior. Ulfric hadn’t been expecting it to be over so soon, but he had hoped that some news would have traveled their direction. As it were, they remained in the dark and it was causing a great amount of concern in Ulfric, who could not voice it to anyone. Jarls did not get anxious; they acted.

The thought gave him an idea. Instead of answering the question, he ordered, “Ysarald, send one of our men to gather information on the Dragonborn’s whereabouts. We’ve heard nothing from outside sources; it’s time to get it for ourselves.”

“It will be done,” Ysarald replied and stood to follow the orders. “I needed something to do anyway.”

\---

It was another three days before their man returned with news, though it was vague and unsatisfying.

“A dragon was captured in Whiterun. Dragonsreach is still a useful trap, it seems,” Ralof said, standing before Ulfric and Galmar in the war room. “The Dragonborn was seen riding on the back of the same dragon, but no one has seen or heard anything since.”

Galmar managed to look impressed. “On the back of a dragon, eh? Why am I not surprised?”

“She’s too stubborn to lose, remember?” Ulfric gave him a wry smirk. “Of course a dragon would bend to her will.”

Galmar grunted. “One more thing to make her insufferable.”

\---

Another week passed with no new information. Even Vignar, the new Jarl in Whiterun, knew nothing when Ulfric corresponded with him directly. It seemed the Dragonborn had disappeared, and it weighed heavily on Ulfric’s mind.

Finally, on the tenth day after her disappearance, a resounding boom split the sky and shook the world. Terrified, people ran through the streets screaming, and Ulfric stood on the ramparts to look toward the Throat of the World. Dark clouds swirled around the mountain peak as if to swallow it whole. They watched for a full hour, keeping an eye out for any changes, when another rumble passed through the ground. An ear-splitting roar pierced the following silence and Ulfric knew, at the very least, Alduin was dead. 

Alduin was dead.

Galmar stood next to him, glaring at the swirling clouds with concern. Ulfric dared to say it out loud. "Alduin is dead."

“Truly? Well, then.” Galmar turned to face Ulfric, his features slack with shock. “What do we do now?”

Ulfric shook his head, unsure. “We wait.”

“She’s coming back,” Ysarald stated quietly, after a few moment’s silence.

Ulfric steeled himself against the other alternative. With his teeth clenched as tight as his chest, he replied, “She has to.”

\---

After much deliberation, it was settled that a celebration would be held in the Palace of Kings. A crier was sent into the city to bring the news that all citizens were invited. Ulfric made sure to instruct them to visit the Grey Quarter and the docks as well.

His staff was in a panic over the short notice, and the kitchens in an uproar about the amount of food needed to feed the whole city. Ulfric assured them he would get them whatever they needed by order of the Jarl.

As the day progressed, things started to come together. The tables in the main hall were pulled to the side, allowing for more space and seating room. The smells of cooking food and fresh bread began to drift from the kitchens as the sun began to set.

A guard came running in as everything was being prepared, searching for the Jarl. “Jarl Ulfric! A dragon has been spotted flying toward the city!”

“What?” Galmar exclaimed. “What’s a damn dragon doing here? I thought Alduin was dead!”

Ulfric gave him a sidelong glance. “ _ Alduin _ is dead, not all the dragons!”

Galmar grumbled as they ran for the main gate. By the time they arrived, Ulfric could see the dragon circling around Windhelm as if looking for a place to land. A few arrows were fired in the beast’s direction, but none of them landed, which was lucky. As the dragon turned again, he spotted something in the crook of the beast's neck that could only be one thing.

“Hold your fire!” Ulfric roared. “The Dragonborn is up there!  _ Hold your fire _ !”

Soldiers everywhere looked again, some yelling in shock and some dropping their weapons. Eventually, the dragon pointed itself toward the road and landed safely in the field across from the bridge. Ulfric raced to meet it.

She had returned.

A wide berth was given to the grounded dragon, soldiers at the ready in case it decided to attack. Ulfric watched carefully, hand on the hilt of his own sword, but he was more interested in the figure that was dismounting.

When she reached the ground, it seemed that she leaned heavily on the dragon. Ulfric’s concern grew when she didn’t move for a long moment and a rumble could be felt through the ground. After a few seconds, he realized the dragon was speaking. He attempted to listen but could understand nothing.

Esmere stood, pushing herself up and taking a few wobbling steps away from the dragon. When it didn’t fly off right away, Ulfric wondered if it was as troubled about her condition as he was. Throwing caution to the wind, he released his sword and started walking toward her.

Galmar shouted for him to wait but he didn’t listen, closing the gap between them with urgency. The dragon was much larger than it had seemed from a distance but even that didn’t slow him down. He ran the last few steps to reach her.

“Esmere.” He wrapped his arms around her just as she stumbled into him. “Thank Talos you’re alive.”

She looked up at him and whispered his name before her eyes rolled back in her head and she fell unconscious.

\---

It took her three days to wake. 

The celebration had gone over fairly well and had lasted well into the early hours of the morning. Even a few Dark Elves and Argonians had joined, which was unprecedented but gladly welcomed. Ulfric had to be forced from Esmere’s room in order to attend, but his thoughts were with her the whole time. He’d been polite and cordial, even making a speech about the death of Alduin, though he didn’t know much. He kept all mention of the Dragonborn’s return out of the public’s knowledge. He felt it would be safer for her if it was kept quiet.

As soon as he was able, he returned to her side. Wuunferth explained that she was severely injured, but to what extent he was unsure. She would need time to heal. Ulfric had time, now that she was back. Nothing else mattered. Galmar brought Ulfric food, watching from the doorway to make sure he actually ate.

Ulfric took to reading by her bedside, sometimes out loud, which was mostly for his own benefit. Her room was too quiet when it was just her labored breathing, and he needed something to mask it. At the very least, it kept his worry at bay.

It was one of the times he was reading quietly that she woke and he was so absorbed in the text he didn’t notice her open her eyes.

“The Markarth Incident?” He started at the sound of her rough voice. She smiled tiredly at his reaction, continuing, “Reading your own history, now?”

He took a calming breath and replied, “What better way to learn than from the mistakes of the past?”

“Some would say, ‘You can’t teach an old dog new tricks.’” She coughed lightly. "Its author was only slightly biased, in any case."

Setting the book down on the bedside table next to them, he took her hand. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m going to get asked that a lot, aren’t I?” she asked with a smirk.

Ulfric chuckled. “More than likely.”

“To answer your question: I’m feeling a lot better than I was...” Esmere looked at him with mild concern as she trailed off. “How long has it been?”

Ulfric focused on his hands, somber once again. “Three days.”

“Oh,” she said, surprised. “Then I’m feeling a lot better than I was three days ago.”

Ulfric frowned. “I feared you were dead.”

“I was in Sovngarde,” she sighed. “So I may have been. Is there water?”

He helped her sit up to drink, watching as she emptied one cup and then another. It felt strangely domestic for him to arrange the pillows behind her back so she could get comfortable. He sat next to her again, elbows on his knees, and examined her face with fierce scrutiny.

Ulfric whispered, “How  _ are _ you?”

There was a long pause while she merely stared back at him. Slowly, a small smile crept onto her face.

“I’m alright, now,” she said with absolute sincerity in her eyes.

Ulfric felt the ache in his chest ease. “I feared the worst when you collapsed.”

“I knew, once I made it back to you,” she replied softly and took his hand. “I knew I would be safe.”

His heart swelled to the point of breaking to pieces. He couldn’t find the words to explain it so he remained silent and traced the shape of her fingers with his own. She allowed it, watching him with tired interest as she neared sleep. She drifted off, still sitting, and he was content to simply stare. He did so until Galmar requested his presence in the war room.

They’d received word from Tullius and the Emperor.

\---

“What does it say?” Ysarald asked impatiently. Galmar crowded them, attempting to read over Ulfric’s shoulder.

Ulfric carefully pulled on the Imperial seal, ignoring them both. Elegant script filled the page as it opened and Ulfric had to focus in order to make the ink turn into words.

_ Jarl Ulfric, _

_ After having corresponded with His Glory, Emperor Titus Mede II, it has been brought to my attention that your information is not unknown to His Glory and his court in Cyrodiil. He, however, has expressed an interest in your offer of peace and would like to extend the opportunity to speak with him in person. _

_ His Glory is already traveling to Solitude and will arrive there within the week. If you could travel to meet him, he would make time to discuss it.  _

_ General Tullius _

Ulfric frowned. His information was not unknown? That meant that the Emperor was working alongside the Thalmor, knowing full well that they had malicious intent. Perhaps Titus Mede assumed he was siding with the lesser evil of the two - peace with the Thalmor, even suspicious peace, was better than constant war.

“Did you hear from Tullius?” a voice from the door said. All three men turned in surprise, none more than Ulfric.

Esmere stood behind them, leaning against the doorway as if it was the only thing holding her up. Before Ulfric could even stammer, Galmar said, “By Talos, woman! You were nearly dead - go rest yourself!”

“I’m not dead, and I’ll rest when I am.” She walked slowly to the table and sat in the first chair she reached. “Well? Tell me what it says!”

Ulfric, exasperated, read it out loud for her and she mirrored his frown. “He already knew. What does that mean for us?”

“It means,” Ysarald said, “that the Emperor is open to entertaining other ideas of how to deal with the Thalmor and is inviting us to dinner.”

Ulfric raised an eyebrow, impressed by Ysarald’s observation. Usually, the younger man wasn’t as adept at court intrigue. Perhaps he was learning. Ulfric looked at Esmere. “We need to travel to Solitude in haste. One week is not much time and who knows how long it took the letter to get here.”

“Isn’t it the third of Sun's Dusk?” Galmar asked, examining the letter.

“The fourth,” Ysarald corrected him.

“Then it’s only been two days. Must have run that horse into the ground getting it from Solitude.” Galmar noticed Ulfric’s confused expression. “Nice thing about Imperials, they always put the date on things.”

Ulfric grunted in response. “In any case, even if the Emperor is late, leaving tomorrow will get us there after his arrival. I don’t want him waiting any longer than necessary. How quickly can we make ready, Glamar?”

The three men discussed the arrangements and Ysarald called for the housekeeper, giving the order for the Jarl’s belongings to be packed for his departure. Ulfric sent Galmar off to rally an escort of fifty soldiers, and he discussed food with Sinfar. During all of that, Esmere watched in silence. She made no move to help but she observed with a careful eye, interested in the outcome.

Finally, when Ulfric was alone with her, he frowned. “Why are you out of bed?”

“I’m not an infant, Ulfric.” She looked disgusted. “I traveled to Sovngarde, killed the World-Eater and made it back alive. Walking downstairs and sitting in a chair is the most exciting thing to happen to me in days.”

Ulfric rolled his eyes, so she added, “As if you would be any different,  _ my Jarl _ .”

“That is a fair point.” Ulfric shrugged one shoulder. “One I cannot disagree with. However, you should be resting.”

She narrowed her eyes and he knew she was about to say something he would not like. “I will rest on one condition, my Jarl.”

“And I will consider your condition if you’ll stop calling me that,” Ulfric countered. He had once found a thrill in that phrase. Now it only reminded him of how they’d been apart.

She raised one eyebrow, conceding to his challenge. “Ulfric, then. I will rest on the condition that I am going with you to Solitude.”

His first reaction was to deny her. She wasn’t well enough yet for the journey. Not only would get an earful from Wuunferth, Galmar would no doubt announce his opinion on the matter. Again.

He very much wanted her to join him, though. In fact, he wanted her as close as possible, as often as possible now that he knew she hadn’t died in the jaws of Alduin. Part of him whispered that it was a selfish reason to let her go until he remembered how cunning, level-headed and knowledgeable of court life she was.

“Alright. You’re coming to Solitude.” Ulfric nodded, crossing his arms.

She blinked, obviously surprised with his answer. “Truly?”

“Truly,” he said, chuckling. “I should say ‘no,’ but you are most needed to help me navigate these diplomatic waters. I have more reasons to say ‘yes.’”

Esmere scoffed. “You have done well on your own for two decades, Ulfric. I doubt you’ll need me all that much.”

He immediately knew that wasn’t true. If he needed nothing else, he needed her presence to anchor him. Like a dry crop thirsted for rain, he could feel the pain of being away from her this long weighing heavy in his chest. He would not prevail upon her in her current state but, by Talos, did he want to. When he thought about it, she hadn’t been gone more than a month but that time had been fraught with worry and doubt. He was more than thankful she was alive, but he yearned for her touch regardless.

“No matter the reason, I will need you,” Ulfric said seriously. “I know that.”

She sighed deeply, down to her bones, it seemed. It rattled her from within and Ulfric felt his heart seize with concern. She sank deeper into the chair, any previous energy she had leaving her. He stepped forward and she waved him off. “Ulfric, I am fine. Just tired.”

“The fact that you should be resting would be my guess as to why,” Ulfric replied with a frown.

She still had enough energy to glare at him. He took that as a good sign. 

She chewed on her lip for a short time, thinking. “You will need my help to deal with Elisif.”

Ulfric considered that. His return to Solitude would not be welcome, even with an invitation from the Emperor. He was sure Jarl Elisif would prefer Ulfric’s neck on the chopping block to hosting her late husband’s killer, but there was little she could do with the Emperor there. If he was willing to hear Ulfric out because of this treaty, he would need to take the opportunity while it was available to him.

“Elisif is the least of my concerns, if I’m being honest,” Ulfric finally admitted. “Your help would be greatly appreciated in that capacity but my focus lies in treating with Titus Mede.”

Esmere waved her hand. “You will be able to handle that without my help. Elisif is the main issue. If the Emperor turns down your offer, even under a peace treaty, Elisif would make an attempt to have you arrested and killed. Or just killed outright, we can’t be sure.”

“Elisif is young and inexperienced,” Ulfric said. “I doubt she would think to have me assassinated on her own. I am more concerned about what her Thanes tell her than she herself.”

Esmere shook her head. “The final decisions rest in her hands, Ulfric. Even if Tullius forbade her from arresting you, she still harbors hatred for the man that she believes murdered her husband. She leans heavily on her advisors and on Tullius. Their opinions are important, that’s true, and the Empire may be the only thing holding her up at the moment, but she still has her own mind.”

“And how do you know all this?” Ulfric frowned. She seemed to possess more information on the inner workings of Elisif’s court than he did, and that was concerning. “Have you visited her court before now?”

She nodded wearily. “Before I came to Windhelm, my father had taken me to visit the court there. He wanted me introduced to the High King and Queen, visible in their circles so as to draw the attention of a worthy suitor. I befriended a Nord woman, Bryling, who became Thane after Elisif rose to Jarl. She has discussed with me the more current situations.”

“A spy in Solitude?” Ulfric raised his eyebrows, hoping for a moment that her connection would be fruitful for him as well. “That would have been helpful to know before now.”

Esmere shook her head. “No, she respects your cause but supports the Empire strongly. She never tells me anything of importance and shares even less now that I’ve joined you. She is cautious but values my friendship enough to still correspond. I wouldn’t ruin that with any attempt to weasel information from her. I’ve been able to gather what I can from her opinions.”

“I suppose just having a friendly face in that court is a blessing,” Ulfric replied, disappointed.

She tipped her head back against the chair and closed her eyes. “Every face there is friendly there, but no intent is genuine.”

“You need to rest, Esmere.” Ulfric stepped forward, brushing a stray hair behind her ear. “Come, now. I’ll carry you if I have to.”

She groaned unhappily, allowing herself to be stood upright. Ulfric wrapped a firm hand around her waist and grabbed one of her hands, walking with her toward the stairs. He regretted now putting her in a room so far away, but Wuunferth had demanded she be near his quarters so he could keep an eye on her improvement. Ulfric cursed her under his breath for being stubborn enough to come down in the first place.

They reached the stairway and she leaned on the arch, her breathing ragged. Ulfric sighed, sweeping her into his arms, ignoring her weak protest, and began making his way up.

“Ulfric!” she scolded, clinging to him with what strength she had left.

He shook his head, already halfway toward their destination. “Quiet, woman. After having defeated the World Eater, I’ll not have you bested by stairs.”

Ulfric did not set her down until he reached her bedside, laying her gently on the straw mattress instead of on her feet. She grumbled, allowing him to settle the sheets around her and fuss over her comfort with narrowed eyes. She said nothing else until he lowered himself on the chair next to her. “I could have managed on my own.”

“Aye, I’m sure you would have made it to bed by morning,” Ulfric agreed, snidely. “Or Sinfar would have found you lying unconscious in the hallway.”

Esmere scoffed but only frowned. Ulfric challenged her with a look and she turned away, conceding. He grunted, the chair creaking as he leaned back. The silence between them stretched and he noticed her eyelids drooping, staying closed for longer and longer. He was struck again by how beautiful she was.

He wasn’t expecting her to speak. Her words were breathy and slightly slurred. “Ulfric, tell me something.”

“Hmm. What would you hear?” he asked softly, wondering when she would fall into sleep.

She shifted, turning toward him and tucking her hand beneath her cheek. “Tell me what happened with Torygg.”

“Oh.” Ulfric stopped, unprepared for the subject. “Why would you want to know about that?”

Her eyelids drooped again and her speech came more slowly. “If I am to face Elisif, I need to know the events from all sides to counter hers. It will help if I hear it from you, directly.”

He nodded, seeing it as a sound reason. There was no cause for him to withhold it and he trusted her more than most people he knew, but he found he had a difficult time speaking of it to her. What he found strange was that she was the first to ask. 

Since returning from Solitude, no one had confronted him. No questions had been voiced, no interested parties had wanted his story. People had been content with the rumors and second-hand tellings of what happened in the throne room when, in truth, only he, Galmar, and a handful of guards had been present. He had not thought she would wish to know. He took a deep breath and began.

“For several months I had thought about speaking to Torygg about separating from the Empire. He had never spoken out against us and my sources told me he respected me personally for choosing to fight for what I believed. I guess I always felt that was like spitting in my face when he still supported the Legion in his city. He spoke out of one side of his mouth while his hands dealt with the Empire. I disliked it, to say the least.”

“What finally drove me to action was the Thalmor. They had been nothing of a problem, small groups in major cities but when the Emissary arrived with a force of soldiers just as strong as our own, I could no longer stand by. What truly angered me was that Torygg never said a word to stop them. The Empire already uses Skyrim as a personal larder - pulling silver from our mines and harvest from our stores as if it comes so easily to us. They do nothing to give back besides stationing soldiers here to protect us from ourselves when, in all reality, they are only one more drain on our resources. Allowing the Thalmor past our borders was the last straw.”

“I decided to visit Solitude. I thought to stop a war before it began but to no avail. We arrived with the intention of discussing independence from the Empire. What happened went against all of my plans.”

He paused, remembering how ill-received they had been by Torygg’s Thanes and Steward. Everyone except Torygg, who seemed so willing to listen. Ulfric’s hopes had been so high that day and it had all ended in destruction.

"Why did you challenge him?" Esmere sounded a little more awake than before, his story obviously drawing her in. "What happened to change your mind?"

Ulfric scowled. "One of his Thanes insulted me."

"Then why didn't you challenge him?" she asked, eyes wide open.

Ulfric shook his head, angry all over again. He stood and began pacing. "It wasn't that simple. He didn't just insult me. I would have knocked his teeth out if it had been personal. No, he insulted our whole cause, and I couldn't stand by and let that happen. Torygg knew it, too, which is why he had to accept."

"Tell me everything as you remember it." Esmere sat up, staring at him intently. 

Ulfric continued his pacing, rubbing his forehead. “Torygg and I were discussing the possibility of separating from the Empire and Torygg...well, he said there was no reason for him to start down that road when he knew it wasn't what was best for his people. For  _ our  _ people.”

“We argued, of course, about what was right for Skyrim - independence or the Empire. Torygg stayed firm on the fact that the Empire brought us stability and security. I couldn’t understand his faith in that. In the end, we were at an impasse. He was unwilling to fight the Empire and I was unwilling to let them stay. I was going to leave it at that until that bastard Eurikr said something.”

Esmere stared at him with interest. “What did he say?”

“I’ll never forget it.” Ulfric shook his head, staring at the Eastmarch banner on the wall. “He said, ‘Run back to Windhelm with your tail between your legs, little Stormcloak. We already have a High King and it will not be you.’”

Esmere whistled lowly.

“I had to do something. It would have been a disgrace to the whole cause if I’d let that stand, even with Torygg calling him down for it.” Ulfric sat again, sighing. “When I met his eye, Torygg knew. He knew what I had to do and it was the last thing I wanted. Now his sniveling wife and the whole damned Empire say I’m a murderer.”

Esmere took his hand and said nothing. Ulfric closed his eyes and tried to push away the memory of Torygg’s last moments. On his knees, Ulfric’s Thu’um still billowing around him and a look in his eye that told Ulfric the young man didn’t want to die. Ulfric still remembered shoving a sword through his chest, despite that look, and it haunted him.

“You need sleep,” Ulfric said suddenly to distract him from his spiraling thoughts.

She squeezed his hand. “So do you.”

“Aye, that is true,” Ulfric tried to smile and was sure he failed, “but I’m not the one wounded.”

She laid back at his urging but tugged his arm when he went to step away. “Stay for a while.”

It was all she said and he gave in. He sat by her side until her eyes stayed closed and her breathing evened out. He dared to kiss her temple before snuffing out the candle and leaving for his quarters.


	11. Snow-Hammer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _I am so excited to share this!  
> _  
>   
>  _Ulfric Stormcloak and Lady Esmere - commission art by Marlena Mozgawa at_  
>  [Lenamo.art](https://lenamo.art/)  
>  _Visit her she is fantastic and I am so in love with this! Enjoy the chapter!_

The trip to Solitude was filled with an air of excitement and apprehension. The escort of soldiers with them knew they were going to treat with the Emperor but not more than that. Ulfric wanted the journey to be as clandestine as possible, though he knew it would be nearly impossible with so many people between them and their destination. His last visit to Solitude had resulted in the death of the Jarl and the High King of Skyrim. Now, he was returning with a force of Stormcloak soldiers and anyone who saw them along the way would see it as an unfavorable omen. He would hold no favor here, regardless of their invitation.

Not for the first time that day, he looked over at Esmere. She had started the journey riding on the other side of Galmar, putting the old man between them like a chaperone. She had not come to his tent or invited him to hers, frustrating Ulfric even more. He would respect her wishes, of course, but it did not mean he didn’t feel irked by the cold distance between them.

When she had exited her tent earlier that morning, Ulfric was as surprised as anyone else that she was wearing a deep blue court dress with silver detailing. It so closely matched the Stormcloak flag that pride could have burst his heart. He, along with all the other men, bowed as she passed and murmured, “My lady.”

She hated it, every second of being held at the standard of her title, and she glared at him, but Ulfric persisted. He’d gone as far as to nudge a young soldier out of the way to help her into her saddle, taking that duty for himself instead of letting someone else touch her. She’d glared at that too but there was little she could do to mount on her own. Her scowl detracted nothing from her beauty. Her dress flowed over her mare’s back like a river. As he helped her up, Ulfric firmly followed the line of her hip with his hand. He stared at her with deeply felt adoration but she only looked away. His disappointment held.

Now, he noticed her wince when her horse shifted her the wrong way. Galmar had traveled to the back of their troops to clear up a matter between the soldiers which left the two of them alone. For the first time that day, he was able to speak to her. “Are you faring well, Lady Esmere?”

“Don’t call me that,” she sighed, sounding bored.

Ulfric smirked just a little. “During our visit to Solitude, I feel it would be more decorus to use your Imperial title, my Lady.”

She glared and did not respond. He thought he saw her wince when her steed shifted her again.

“Are you in pain from your wounds?” Ulfric asked carefully. “They were...extensive.”

She tossed her unbraided hair over her shoulder. “I have been through worse. The healing potions are working."

“I will take your word,” Ulfric conceded. “But you should still be resting. Perhaps you should ride in the cart instead?”

Esmere looked at him sternly. “And be jostled around like a head of cabbage? I beg your pardon, but, no.”

“Lady Esmere...” Ulfric chided. 

She waved her hand dismissively, dropping all pretense and allowing her frustration with her use of her title show in a simple sentence. “Go help someone else.”

Their conversation died just in time for Galmar to return.

"Something between the men, a bet that has not been settled,” was all he said when Ulfric asked him what had happened.

“Come, my friend,” Ulfric said when Esmere had moved ahead of them and out of earshot. “What was this bet and why was it so heated?”

Galmar pressed his lips into a fine line beneath his beard and shook his head. “No.”

“Is it so bad you can’t even tell me?” Ulfric laughed softly. “You’ve never been one to shy away from anything before.”

Galmar wrestled with that. Finally, he grumbled, “Whether you two were humping or not.”

To say Ulfric was shocked was an understatement. He sat there, eyebrows raised, and waited for Galmar to continue. He did not. It left Ulfric the time to think about what that implicated.

His men had already jumped to the conclusion that he and Esmere were in bed together and they weren’t wrong. He felt no anger at it because it was true. Instead he was amused - like a father finding his children playing tricks. He tried not to smile.

"Besides, we have other things to discuss before we reach Solitude," Galmar changed the subject, clearing his throat. "Namely, Elisif."

Ulfric held up a finger to correct him. "Jarl Elisif, don't forget."

"You know what I meant," Galmar snapped.

Ulfric remained firm, facing forward. "We can't bear to misstep here, Galmar. All the nicety needs to be observed."

"Fine," Galmar spat. "What plan do you have to deal with Jarl Elisif?"

Ulfric remained quiet for a time, thinking. He didn’t have one, not like he had when he’d gone to see Torygg. That had been a disaster compared to what he’d had in mind. Should he plan something out if it was going to go so badly in the execution? Ulfric considered it. Finally, he said, “I know this will make you unhappy, Galmar, but I am looking to Lady Esmere to soothe that situation.”

“Well, good. At least I can pretend to not know why she's actually here,” Galmar glared.

Ulfric scowled to match his friend. “Are you saying it would not be of benefit to have the Dragonborn at our side during this negotiation?”

“No.”

Ulfric continued, “Is it poor planning to have a high-born noble in our pocket?”

“Uch. I see what you’re getting at but…”

Ulfric held up his hand to interrupt. “Has she ever proven to you that she is anything less than resourceful and intelligent?”

“Alright, alright!” Galmar threw a hand up. “I see your point! It’s a good idea to bring her along, already! Talos preserve.”

Ulfric smirked. “I’m glad we understand one another.”

“Don’t think for a moment that I don’t know the real reason, Ulfric.” Galmar pointed at him. Ulfric rolled his eyes as discreetly as possible. “You know damn well that we have no standing for negotiation if you’re attached...romantically.”

Ulfric bit down on the surge of anger that tore through him. “We’ll see.”

Galmar quieted down after that and left Ulfric to his thoughts. By the time they reached the gates of Solitude, Ulfric was restless and unhappy, not to mention hungry and looking for company. He knew the next company he kept, though, would be most unpleasant.

"Ulfric Stormcloak," Tullis greeted. They exchanged a brief clasping of forearms before the older man nodded at Galmar. "Stone-Fist."

Ulfric stood to the side, gesturing behind him at a scowling woman. "Lady Esmere, the Dragonborn."

“Lady Esmere!” Elisif exclaimed. “Is it really you? Look how you’ve grown!”

Ulfric watched as Esmere’s shocked smile became pinched but she reached to embrace the other woman all the same. “Jarl Elisif, looking as fair as always.”

Tullius watched with an eyebrow crooked. “You two know each other?”

“Oh, yes!” Elisif gushed, overacting for their sakes, Ulfric was sure. “Lady Esmere was just a lass the last time she visited my court. It’s been years, Ezzy. How have you been?”

The two women started walking toward the Blue Palace where they would be hosted. Ulfric and Tullius gazed after them warily for a moment before turning back to business.

“You got my message?” Tullius asked, resting his arm on the hilt of his sheathed sword.

Ulfric nodded. “In such pretty handwriting, too.”

“Rikke wrote it for me, if you’d believe it,” Tullius smirked and turned to walk toward the castle, not waiting for Ulfric to follow. “I’ll pass that on.”

Ulfric squinted into the sunset, looking for familiar landmarks, not needing to rush to keep up with the shorter man’s brisk pace. They spent the rest of the walk in comfortable silence. Ulfric allowed Tullius to lead once they got inside and he gaped at how much it had changed.

On his last visit, less than a year before, the decor of the Blue Palace had been elegant but somber. Now, it was filled with color and light to a degree that was almost unbearable. The setting sun cast shadows from butterflies that floated around the multitudes of flowers on display. Some were wilted or dead, having been given to her as a widow’s gift, but just as many were freshly cut. So many filled vases were sitting around the main hall, in fact, that there was barely any walking space. Ulfric felt a sense of pity for Elisif for her obvious overcompensation after the loss of her husband. She had taken beauty and made it something grotesque. 

Ulfric followed Tullius to a room that had been set to dine. A suckling pig and steamed vegetables were already on the table, servants ducking out of the way as they plated the food. Ulfric sat next to Esmere, across from Tullius, and listened with half an ear to Elisif prattling about the latest fashions in Solitude. He sighed quietly, a small smile creeping onto his lips when Tullius did the same.

“Ladies? Shall we eat?” Tullius finally broke in.

Elisif smiled sweetly. “Of course, how careless of me! Ha! Yes, let's eat!"

The dinner started off quietly, the servants appearing at their sides to put food on their plates. When he was only given one piece of venison, Ulfric waved the hands of the servant away and took what he wanted. Elisif watched him with cold eyes.

“Lady Elisif, how have you been?” Esmere asked delicately, drawing her attention away from Ulfric.

Elisif took a drink of her wine, something she may have already had enough of, and sighed. “It has been difficult since the loss of my husband, but I am faring much better since the peace treaty has been signed. All that fighting does nothing for my nerves.”

Ulfric said nothing, looking only at the food as he cut it. If he focused on eating as quickly as possible, it might end the night earlier, and he could escape the Jarl’s company.

“I am glad to hear you are more at ease,” Esmere said. “This peace has been good for everyone.”

Tullius and Ulfric looked at each other for a moment before returning to their food. Esmere picked up the lull again. “How is it, having the Emperor in your city?”

“Oh it’s been a whirlwind!” Elilsif explained, perking up. “With all the arrangements and meetings, I’ve barely had time to sleep!”

Tullius grunted. “You don’t even have to deal with his security.”

“Oh, come now Tullius! It’s been an absolute delight having our Emperor in Solitude. He came to see his cousin’s wedding. You know, Vittoria Vici? No? Well,” Elisif glared down her nose at Ulfric, “he’s also here for her wedding. Among other...things.”

Ulfric wanted to say something, wanted to sneer at her but he stayed silent. He’d done enough to this woman, he could withstand a few jabs. He was used to worse in any case.

Elisif went on, explaining the details of the Emperor’s daily life in minute detail. Esmere smiled politely, nodding when Elisif spoke, and took on the brunt of the conversation by asking questions and keeping Elisif engaged. He was thankful for Esmere already, and they had only been in Solitude for an hour. If he’d had Galmar with him, this wouldn’t be going nearly as well.

When Ulfric was almost done with his food, Elisif asked, “And, so, Lady Esmere. Tell me. Why are you in Solitude? Did you hope to find a husband?”

Ulfric felt his anger rise, doing his best not to choke on his wine. Why was everyone she knew trying to marry her off? He bit into his food with more force than necessary and drowned out Esmere’s answer with his chewing.

“You know there are more than enough good Nords in Solitude to clear that up for you. The right kind of Nord.” Elisif daintily nibbled at her meat, looking as innocent as a babe. She did not look at Ulfric.

Esmere straightened imperceptibly but her voice was still cordial. “I would prefer to make that decision myself.” 

“Hmmph.” Elisif veered the conversation in a different direction. “Well, I suppose that’s not as unbecoming as the rumor of you riding dragons! Is it true, Ezzy?”

Esmere turned her wince into a smile. “Please, Elisif. Don’t call me…”

“Aren't you worried that riding dragons will impair your ability to bear children?” Elisif interjected. She calmed after her outburst. “Should you manage to find a husband, of course.”

Ulfric had reached his limit. He stood, the wooden chair scraping against the stone loudly in the sudden silence. “I beg your pardon, but I would like to escort Lady Esmere to her chambers before I retire for the night.”

Elisif finally turned to him, her eye twitching. There was no pardon in her expression. Instead of speaking, she waved at a servant who escorted them out of the room. Tullius continued to eat his food as if nothing was happening.

The serving girl led them through twisting corridors that Ulfric had trouble memorizing. After a few more turns, she stopped in front of a large, wooden door. 

“These will be your rooms, Jarl Ulfric. Lady Esmere, your rooms are right down the hall.” The young woman curtsied and departed in haste, leaving the two of them alone in the hallway. 

Once the girl was gone, Ulfric asked the question that was burning inside him. “What in the name of Talos was all that?!”

“Oh, Ulfric, stop and think.” Esmere lowered her shoulders, which had been highly tense until then. “She’s trying to hurt you by insulting me.”

He exhaled, feeling for all the world like a bull about to rage. “How would she…”

“Rumors, stories...she has probably heard more about us than is even true! Your men aren’t the only ones betting on us.” She sighed.

“I’m sorry you had to hear that.” Ulfric tried to relax by stretching his neck and shoulders. “Come in and we can discuss this further.”

She cleared her throat and looked away. “I don’t believe that would be the best idea, my Jarl.” 

“Where does this stem from?” Ulfric asked suddenly, stepping toward her. “You nearly die saving the world and come back to me…” Broken? Empty? His mind supplied too many words at once for him to finish that sentence. He started over. “Esmere, what happened to what we had before?”

She turned sharply to face him, a familiar fire in her eyes. “Nothing happened, Ulfric. We are not in a place where we can...express what is between us, even if it was proper, and you should know that! If you’re intent on following social protocols then you’ll understand my reasons when I say no.”

“You’re beginning to sound like Glamar,” Ulfric frowned, not pouting in the least. “Please, Esmere. I need to see you, I need to...hold you, if even for a night. I need to know that you’re with me.”

She shook her head in warning, holding up a finger. “You’ve already called in that token, Ulfric. I stayed with you that night before the summit because you were distraught, against my wishes and everything I’d told you I would not do. You will not manipulate me again.”

Ulfric paused in shock. Had he really manipulated her? He thought back to the night in question and considered his own actions. She had said no, repeatedly, but had somehow led him to bed. He hadn’t pondered what that meant. He’d only taken it for what it had been at the time. 

“And don’t apologize,” she interrupted him, his mouth hanging open as she continued. “We are well past it and I knew what was happening. I allowed it once. Not again.”

Ulfric nodded slowly, upset with himself for his behavior. “It was not my intention, Esmere, and I am sorry for it.”

“You are a terrible listener,” she shook her head again, pursing her lips, “and I feel like that is part of the problem.”

Ulfric smirked, hoping she had forgiven him. “Jarls aren’t used to being told ‘no’, perhaps?”

“I think it’s just who you are.” She smiled softly, gracing him with a brush of her hand against his. It wasn’t much but Ulfric knew she had dropped the matter.

Ulfric took a step back. “Then, this is ‘goodnight’, my Lady.”

“Yes, I suppose it is.”

Ulfric hoped against hope that her frown was of disappointment. He wanted her to want him back, not pine like some teenaged boy lusting after a woman out of his depth. He reached his hand toward hers and, after a moment, she took it. He shifted it to kiss her knuckles and he would swear her cheeks reddened. With his eyes on hers, he repeated himself. “Good night...my lady.”

She nodded to cover her blush, curtsied and left for her own rooms. Ulfric opened the door to his quarters and scowled at the furniture. He felt desire churning in his gut, dissatisfied with the turn of events and filled with an urge he would have to force back.

Or, he thought to himself and then had a wonderful idea.

Ulfric called for a bath.

\---

Ulfric sighed with relief as he sank into the water. It was still a little too hot but it felt wonderful against the chill of his room. He was alone again in his rooms, soaking and enjoying the quiet for once. He never had time to be still like this and it was more than enjoyable.

He had other ideas in mind besides the silence.

Ulfric took himself in hand, the water lapping quietly as he stroked himself in slow, languid movements. He knew he would not be disturbed and could take his time. It had been so long.

He closed his eyes, resting his head on the back of the tub, and groaned at the feeling. Yes, it had been too long. It had been a full month since the night before the summit and he began to run through the memory. Her legs wrapped around him as he thrust into her, the table creaking under their activity. She had been so glorious, so soft and yielding while still taking what she wanted. A heavy weight settled at the base of his spine and he knew, if he didn’t stop, he would peak before he was ready.

Instead he bathed, lathering soap across his chest and shoulders, scrubbing his face and beard vigorously. It worked to stave off the arousal but his need still simmered below the surface. He realized as he rinsed out his hair that it was a good feeling now that he knew it would come to fruition.

When the water had grown tepid, he climbed out and rubbed himself dry with a towel. Naked, he walked to the bed and lay down, stretching out on the enormous bed. His own bed was not this soft. His night seemed to be filled with luxuries.

He reached down between his legs, tugging gently until he was hard again. He thought back again to the night before the summit but, instead of picturing the two of them in the war room, he focused on remembering what they had done in his bed and it was far more invigorating.

Esmere had moved against him so perfectly, their bodies in harmony. He moved upward, stroking his length slowly, thinking solely of the feeling of being inside her. How he’d turned her on her back and thrust inside her. He rushed toward his climax despite trying to make it last longer.

He sighed her name as he came and instantly felt a rush of relief. If he couldn’t have her in his bed, at least he could have her in his memories. They were good for that much.

Ulfric cleaned himself and fell exhausted into bed. He slept well that night.

\---

“Why do I need to wear this?” Ulfric said lowly, pulling at the stifling neck of his new shirt. He’d been told the collar was in style in the court of Solitude currently but he didn’t care about fashion. For a fleeting moment, he hated everything in existence.

Esmere slapped his hand away and straightened the collar for him again. She whispered, “Because it’s a wedding, and people wear nice clothes to weddings.”

“Yes, but why do I have to wear them?” Ulfric whispered back, hoping the answer would be different. “We don’t even know these people!”

Esmere whispered again, more aggressively. “The Emperor’s cousin is marrying a Nord as a way to bring the Imperials and the Stormcloaks together. You should be grateful that this is happening.”

Ulfric ignored his own troubles and focused on what was happening before him. Vittoria Vici made a beautiful bride. She wore a traditional gown and glowed with happiness. His mind began to wander and he pictured what his own wedding would be like. He knew he would have to marry eventually and he hoped, with everyone pointing him toward that goal, that he would be crowned High King in the same ceremony. Would his wife be as beautiful as this woman? Would she be more?

The problem was that he could only imagine his bride as Esmere. She would smile at him as the Priest of Mara spoke words over them. He would take her hand and they would make their vows to one another. The more he thought about it, the more he felt a strange sensation creep over him. He smiled to himself and turned to look at Esmere only to find her staring somewhere above the ceremony altogether.

“Esmere?” Ulfric asked in a quiet tone. “What’s the matter?”

She didn’t turn toward him, her eyes on something he had yet to see. “Movement. On the ramparts.”

“It was probably a guard,” Ulfric began. “They are posted everywhere…”

She shook her head once, not moving her gaze. “Not a guard. A figure in all black. I don’t like this.”

“Are you armed?” Ulfric asked, taking in their position in the courtyard. There were six guards that he could see, all of them with eyes glazed over in boredom. They were directly in the center of the crowd which made movement nearly impossible without shoving someone out of the way. He didn’t like their odds.

She finally looked at him. “Of course not! They took my weapons before we came in. I assume they took yours.”

Ulfric nodded, searching for the figure she spoke of. He thought he saw something, a shadow maybe, but it was gone before he could pinpoint it.

“If I had a bow…” Esmere said, fierce and longing at the same time.

Ulfric leaned down to speak in her ear. “You may not but the guards do. They can handle a little trouble. Let’s see how this plays out.”

She frowned at him, her nose wrinkling with distaste at the idea of doing nothing, he assumed. He motioned back to the ongoing ceremony and they turned their attention to the couple's first kiss while maintaining a lookout..

He joined in the applause half-heartedly, raising his eyebrows at Esmere in question. She clapped, too, shaking her head minutely and Ulfric felt his sense of dread heighten. She hadn’t seen anything else which meant they would have to continue waiting. Waiting was the hard part.

The wedded couple disappeared for a minute as they climbed to a balcony that looked over the courtyard. Ulfric continued to clap but felt disgust at the display. There was no need for them to show off like this, the Emperor’s cousin or not. The two newlyweds waved and beamed down at the crowd and Ulfric vowed not to grin like an idiot at his own wedding.

Suddenly, there was a loud noise from above and a large, stone gargoyle creaked and slid from its place on the wall. Time seemed to slow as it fell, Ulfric watching as it landed with a sickening crunch on top of the bride. A gasp arose from the crowd and a woman somewhere screamed.

“There!” Esmere yelled, pointing. “On the wall! An assassin!”

There was a raucous commotion after that, all the attendees crashing around trying to find a way out. Ulfric could see why she’d done it after she sprinted for a guard and ripped his bow and quiver away from him. The pandemonium her shout had brought on confused the guard enough that he didn’t even resist. Ulfric smirked and tried to make his way to her through the panicked crowd.

She took aim and let loose, her arrow narrowly missing her target. There was indeed a black-clad figure on the ramparts, looking for all the world like a trapped rat. Guards began to close in on them from both sides. Esmere loosed another arrow and missed again, cursing.

She turned to him, the bow already held out. “Ulfric, hurry! Before they jump the wall!”

Without much thought, Ulfric nocked another arrow and took aim. The figure was strafing back and forth, trying to avoid the blades of the guards that surrounded them now. Ulfric followed the movement and let fly. The arrow found its mark in the assassin’s neck. He dropped the bow and ran to the stairs. They climbed as quickly as Esmere’s skirts would let them and made it to the top just as a guard was attempting to leave. 

Ulfric stopped him. “The assassin - where are they?”

“Over...over there. They...died. From the a-arrow.” The young man looked terrified, his stricken expression pale beneath his helm. “I have to tell the Emperor and General Tullius what happened.”

Ulfric let him pass and made his way through the crowd of guards. He found Captain Aldis, one of the Legion trainers, on one knee next to the corpse. He was searching the body, probably for any other evidence, but seemed to have found nothing.

Aldis looked up as Ulfric approached. “Ulfric Stormcloak, were you the one to fire that arrow?”

“He was,” Esmere spoke up from behind him, “and it only took once.”

Aldis stood, rubbing his hands together. He nodded to Ulfric. “That was an impressive shot.”

“Thank you.” Ulfric said, with a small amount of pride. They looked down at the assassin. A male Khajit lay on the stones in a pool of blood. It wasn’t a pretty site. Ulfric asked, “Do we know who they are?”

“All we know is that they were Dark Brotherhood. There are no identifying possessions, only a poisoned dagger and a contract.” Aldis shook his head. “This is not good.”

Ulfric grunted in agreement. “That guard said they died from the arrow.”

“As far as I can tell, that’s the case. Hardly any blood, though which is strange,” Aldis said, shaking his head again. “Something odd about the whole thing.”

Ulfric frowned at that, thinking. After a few more words, Ulfric and Esmere descended the stairs and stood in the now empty courtyard.

“Our appointment with the Emperor isn’t for a few more hours,” Esmere said, casting her gaze around the barren venue. “I suppose we should wait in our rooms.”

Ulfric frowned at her. “Not if I have anything to say about it. I’m not going to wait for something else to happen.”

He led the way again, this time heading into Castle Dour. He could sense Esmere following him but he focused solely on finding his way to Tullius. A loud conversation could be heard coming from the war room and Ulfric recognized the voices of Tullius and Rikke.

“...can’t plan for everything, sir!” Rikke was saying.

Tullius snapped, “We have the best security in all the Holds and some peddler was able to waltz in and kill someone! If we can’t prepare for these things then what are we doing here?”

Ulfric and Esmere had made it through the door at that point and Rikke and Tullius stopped their argument. Esmere stepped forward a little. “Sorry to have interrupted.”

“It’s fine,” Tullius said dismissively, turning back to the table. “Beating a dead horse anyway.”

Rikke scowled at him but kept her tongue. She looked Ulfric in the eye. “Even with the presence of the Penitus Oculatus, the Emperor is wary of meetings at the moment. He also needs time to help put his cousin’s affairs in order.”

“He’s not willing to see us, then?” Esmere asked.

Rikke shook her head. “Not tonight. I’ll see to it that your meeting is rescheduled. I’ll let you know when it can be arranged.”

Ulfric stepped next to Tullius. “Do you know how they got in?”

“The assassin? They were always here. That Khajit lived in the city, sold fruit in the market next to the fish stand. Rikke is as surprised as anyone that he was the one up there and not some Imperial with a grudge.”

Ulfric was becoming more and more suspicious of the situation as it unfolded. Esmere spoke up, “None of this is making sense. If the Khajit lived in Solitude, why would they out themselves in such a spectacular way? If they were undercover for the Dark Brotherhood, they would never have shown themselves - why did this one?”

“Those are good questions we don’t have the answer to, yet.” Tullius frowned. “I’ll be investigating the matter myself, to try to get to the bottom of this.”

Esmere nodded and Ulfric said, "Let us help you."

"Absolutely not!" Rikke exclaimed at the same time Tullius said, "We have things under control."

With what felt like theatrical despondence, Ulfric said, “Then I guess we’ll wait in our rooms.”

“Nonsense,” Tullius said. “You can have dinner with me and Rikke. No use just milling about when something could happen.”

Ulfric smirked. “You just want to keep an eye on us.”

“You caught me,” Tullius smiled wanly, “but at least you’ll be in good company.”

Ulfric nodded. “Fair enough. When is dinner?”

Dinnertime was a relative term when running an army. Most people slept at night and ate during the day but a military was constantly in motion. Food was always a need, along with the people to handle it. The four of them walked into the dining hall and were served as soon as they sat. They all sat silently for a long moment, all of them in their own heads.

“Tullius,” Ulfric said. “Tell me your concerns with this situation.”

The older man lowered his fork and thought for a moment. “I’m wondering how there was a Dark Brotherhood agent living in our city and no one could have been the wiser. His neighbors said he never left the city except to go to the docks to get his shipments. It just doesn't seem right.”

“Esmere and I saw the body. They were dead from my arrow,” Ulfric reminded him. "They had to have been the assassin, the only others around were guards."

Tullius frowned, swallowing before answering. “I stand my ground.”

“He’s right, Ulfric.” Esmere said without his title. Rikke raised her eyebrows a little. “That Khajit doesn’t fit the part. Remember what Aldis told us?”

Ulfric shook his head. “I’m only testing the strength of the arguments. I, too, am wary of the verdict.”

Esmere folded her napkin over her lap, her face pointed down. “Then tell us your concerns.”

“My concern,” Ulfric said tightly, ignoring the look Rikke was giving the two of them, “is that the Emperor is here and so is the Dark Brotherhood. Those two things should never be together.”

Rikke took a moment to smile at Ulfric. “Are you concerned for the Emperor?”

“He is a man, is he not?” Ulfric scowled at her. “Should I wish my fellow man to die? Beside that, he is a guest in Skyrim. I will not be held accountable if something were to happen.”

Rikke snorted. “Finally, the truth. You don't want to be blamed for the Emperor's death! ”

“In the last twenty years, what have I done to you?” Ulfric asked, nudging her roughly with his elbow.

Esmere shook her head at their antics. "I would like to know why they had a poisoned dagger when they planned on shifting that stone. That doesn't make sense to me."

"Maybe it was a backup?" Tullius offered. "Everyone usually has a blade on them."

Esmere countered, "Then why did it need to be poisoned? Merely because they are Dark Brotherhood?"

"It could have been planted on them," Ulfric agreed, "but that would have taken time before the guards got there and there was none. Who would have planted it, in any case?"

Esmere frowned. “All that I truly know is that something’s not right.”

“Well, making up scenarios isn’t going to help us find out what actually happened,” Rikke responded, spearing the last piece of her potato. Esmere sighed and shrugged one shoulder, eyes meeting Ulfric’s for a moment.

Once all of them were finished, they stood to return to the war room and a Pentus Ocultus guard rushed to meet them.

“Sir, the Emperor wanted me to pass on a message,” The young man said. He turned toward Ulfric. “Ulfric Stormcloak, the Emperor will see you first thing in the morning.”


End file.
